As If We Never Said Goodbye
by Catty Jay
Summary: Three weeks. That's all it took. Santana finds herself four thousand miles away from home with only a backpack and a feisty blonde for company. When you're nineteen, three weeks can change your life.
1. I: Stranger In A Strange Land

PART I

_Let the flames begin..._

* * *

><p>Three weeks.<p>

Twenty-one days.

Five hundred and four hours.

Thirty thousand, two hundred, and forty minutes.

That's all it took.

That's all it took for blonde and hazel and life to steal her heart, and captivate her soul.

Three weeks.

* * *

><p>She took a deep breath as a gust of cold wind blew browning autumn leaves around her feet. The brunette toed them absently with her scuffed Chuck Taylors while a group of laughing children ran past her, their parents rushing by moments later. She sat precariously on a wooden bench, running her fingers over the well-worn slats, deep etchings covering the lacquered surface every few inches. She danced her fingers over the markings as if she was reading braille, the writings staring back at her just as foreign.<p>

When Santana told her best friend, Brittany, four years ago that she was getting out of Lima, she somehow pictured she would be road tripping it to New York, or jetting off to California. Never did she imagine she would be sitting in a crowded train station nearly four thousand miles away from all she knew with nothing but a backpack and a crinkled railway ticket.

She took in another deep breath, smelling freshly ground coffee and cigarettes, making her already nerve ridden stomach churn. She hung her head low between her legs, trying to clear her head of all thoughts that would have her back on a plane home within the hour.

_Why am I here?_

She straightened up and dug into the warm pocket of her Ohio State hoodie, fishing out her already worn train pass. She brushed her fingertips over the embossed writing on the small slip of paper.

"Gare de Lyon, Paris to Venezia, Mestra," Santana muttered under her breath as if she hadn't uttered her destination a thousand times over the past twenty-four hours.

_Why did I think this was a good idea?_

_And alone?_

She was only nineteen for Christ sake, not nearly old enough to be taking on the world. But she had to get out of Lima. And if she thought about it she knew it was an adventure she had to take on her own. A part of her just wished her parents didn't let her go so easily. Like by asking to go on this trip she was testing their love. She'd hoped that maybe they would finally show concern for her well being, beg her to stay. But that obviously wasn't the case, or else she wouldn't be sitting by herself on a wooden bench in a crowded train station at 8pm at night.

She looked up at the large clock hanging over her platform, telling her it was five minutes until her train departed. She stole herself the last few moments of fresh air before she'd have to board a train for the next ten hours. She just prayed to all that was Holy that she didn't have to share a seat with a pair of screaming babies, or an over excited traveller all too willing to talk. She slung her heavy backpack over her shoulder and made her way over to the back exit of the sleek train, hoping she could find an empty compartment away from the madness of families taking their ungrateful bundles of joy with them for their weekend getaway.

It took three carriages before Santana found one that was empty. She hauled off her rucksack and shoved it unceremoniously under one of the two small beds, before falling onto the soft sheets with a sigh. She felt like she hadn't slept in days. Ever since Brittany saw her off at the airport she hadn't let her mind fade long enough to find rest.

She retrieved her earplugs from her pocket, hearing a generic female voice announce something in French just as she turned up today's favourite mix on her iPod. She settled into her bunk and shut her eyes, letting the guitars and calming male vocals wash over her. She felt the train jerk into motion, sinking lower into her pillow, having every intention of sleeping her way to Venice.

Time passed by as the cabin slowly drifted into darkness, cities giving way to rolling green hills and small towns. The soothing sounds of Dallas Green soon had Santana snoring lightly for the first time in nearly thirty-six hours.

When she woke, her slowly adjusting eyes were met with blinding artificial light coming from across the small space. Santana jerked her hands up to her face, peaking at her Omega as she did so.

_4am._

_FOUR. AM_.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Santana groaned at the unknown intruder, her headphones tangled awkwardly around her neck. "Have you_ not_ seen the time?"

She heard sheets rustling softly as she collapsed face down, trying to shield as much light as possible from her still sensitive eyes. Santana heard a breathy chuckle before the sarcastic greeting reached her ears.

"Morning to you too," came an angelic voice, making the brunette lift her head suddenly off her white pillow at the sound.

Santana turned her head toward the other side of the room, a pale hand covering the table lamp. The soft glow that seeped through slender fingers illuminated the girl's face just enough for Santana to be rendered speechless; not that she was that eloquent this early to begin with. She followed the hand across until she hit an old leather bound journal, then up towards short hair and the most amazing hazel eyes that glowed in the dim light. Her sharp flicks of blonde hair fell just below her jaw, framing her angular face.

She was breathtaking.

Santana hadn't realised she'd been staring at the girl silently for the past few minutes until she'd quirked a perfect eyebrow, and flashed a wide smile her way.

"Umm, morning," Santana finally choked, inwardly cringing at her awkward response. She buried her head in her pillow, her self-embarrassment turning her face a deep crimson.

_Way to be smooth when there's a hot girl sharing your cabin, Lopez._

"So, Lopez," came the muffled, honey sweet voice. "Where are you from?"

Santana ears prickled at the question, her face going from red to white in a matter of seconds at the mention of her name.

_Did I just say that out loud?_

"How did you?" Santana stuttered. Her heart was beating wildly as she turned to face the other girl, pulling her legs up to her chest and untangling the chord from around her neck in the process. The girl just smirked in response, then motioned toward something underneath Santana's bunk. Realisation washed over her, remembering her last name was scrawled across the top of the rucksack she'd borrowed from her older brother. She let out a shaky breath, nodding in understanding.

"Lima, Ohio," Santana answered, getting comfortable. "You? And your name while at it too, since you insist on playing twenty questions at four in the morning."

There was that laugh again, breathy but with a childish innocence. It was contagious, and it brought a small smile to Santana's lips and a warmth to her chest.

"Small world, I'm from Bellville," the blonde stated, closing her leather journal and meeting Santana's gaze. "But I've lived in New York for the past two years." Santana nodded softly, but still waited patiently for her acquaintance's name. "And you can call me Q," she finished.

"That's all I get?" Santana asked in astonishment. "Q?"

"Yes, that's all you get," she told her in a matter-of-fact tone, returning her attention to her journal. "You could be a serial killer for all I know, _Lopez._"

"Say's the one that's writing in her journal at 4am," Santana retorted, causing her to put down her pen once more.

"You're really not a morning person, are you?" she asked, a teasing grin on her lips.

"It's still night, Q," she stated, pointing out at the darkened scenery rushing by. The blonde turned her attention to the outside world for a moment and nodded thoughtfully, her smile still in place.

Silence feel over both girls as the Italian sun slowly started to peek over the green hills in the distance. Santana, for the most part, gazed out of the window at her first glimpse of Italy. It was beautiful; there was no denying it. With its lush pastures and quaint houses nestled every few miles, she could see its appeal. Farms soon gave way to small towns, and towns gave way to sprawling cities.

Every few minutes Santana would break from watching vineyards to steal glances of her new friend, who never seemed to take her eyes off her notebook, or her ever-moving pen. This gave Santana a chance to watch her more closely. Watch her eyes light up when she would write, or watch how she would bite her lip in concentration when she wasn't.

"So, how long are you gone for?" the girl asked, gazing up through her long lashes and catching Santana staring. The brunette reverted her eyes back to the window, suddenly finding her fingernails extremely fascinating as she tried to avoid the her knowing gaze.

"Until my trust fund runs out," Santana huffed, not wanting to get into the details. The story of how her parents would rather throw money at her than spend quality time with their only daughter wasn't really a subject fit for early morning small talk.

"So, how long are you gone for?" she repeated again, her smile evident in her tone.

"One month, two tops," Santana replied, finally looking back at her. "What about you?"

"I'll be working in London for the next year, then it's back to New York."

The train came to an abrupt halt, the metal wheels screeching across the rail. The generic female voice had turned Italian and began rattling off what Santana guessed was the standard _take your belongings upon exiting_.

"Sounds like we're here," Santana announced awkwardly, reaching under her bunk to retrieve her backpack. She slung it over her shoulder and made her way to the exit just next to their cabin.

She touched down onto the concrete platform, and breathed in the fresh sea air. The first thing she noticed was the temperature change. It had climbed a considerable amount since Paris, making her skin overheat in her sweatshirt in minutes. Q stepped off the train moments later, making her way over to where Santana stood in between the platforms.

"Well, it was nice to have met you, _Q_," Santana jested playfully, holding out her hand expectantly.

"Likewise, _Lopez_," she quipped back, taking her hand. The easy contact sent tingles up Santana's arm and through to her chest. They let their hands drop, the brunette rubbing her palm discretely on her jeans in an effort to rid the static left behind by the touch.

With one last glance at Santana, Q turned her back and began making her way up the platform toward the exit. She hadn't gotten fifty feet when she turned around, the shorter girl still standing there watching her go. She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, contemplating something for a moment before jogging back to Santana.

"Come with me."

Santana's eyes practically bulged out her head. This girl couldn't be serious.

"I don't even know where you're going," she stated, shell shocked from the completely blasé statement.

"Does it matter?" the girl countered.

"I don't even know your name."

"Quinn," she said with a smile. "Come with me."

"I just met you."

"That's a matter of perspective."

"I just learnt your name."

"What's in a name?" Quinn recited poetically.

"I barely know you," Santana said, her brain ruining out of excuse to say no to the beaming girl in front of her. The darker girl was starting to think Quinn's smile could get her to do just about anything it wanted, given the right circumstance.

"All the more reason for you to come with me," she said passionately. "Why did you come to Europe if not to experience the unexpected. Well, I'm the unexpected."

A million thoughts and scenarios were racing through Santana's head. Was this really a smart thing to do? For all the already mentioned reasons, she felt reckless and stupid for even considering it.

"Give me three weeks," she digressed when she saw the hesitation in Santana's eyes. "Three weeks, and I'll show you why you left home in the first place."

Santana let out a breath and eyed the girl in front of her.

_What's the worst that could happen?_

"Three weeks."

* * *

><p><strong>I've had this story in my head for the past six months, and if I didn't get this out I may just go insane. This is what came of it…<strong>


	2. I: A Whole New World

Stone and wooden architecture towered three stories above with no more than ten feet of cobblestone in between. Dress shops, and masks, and jewellery of every extravagance met them at every corner. Small restaurants boasted beautiful exotic smells and loud conversation every few shop fronts. It was an ambush on the senses that left Santana disoriented as she trailed a few feet behind Quinn, trying to take in all of Venice at once.

"Where are we?" Santana asked absently, eyes moving from a lace window display to a climbing vine that followed a crack up the stone house to her left. Her eyes trailed the vine up the wall, trying to see where it led, the sun shining in her eyes and blinding her way.

"I don't know," Quinn replied, skipping ahead and turning around to met Santana's gaze with a cheeky grin, before spinning back around.

"What do you mean you don't know?" the brunette questioned, slipping on her Ray Bans and jogging to catch up to her. Two women, who could have walked straight onto the cover of Vogue, brushed past them in a flurry of Versace and Prada, leaving Santana reeling.

_We are definitely not in Kansas anymore._

"I mean we are lost, without direction or destination," she said with a smile. "But that is the beauty of _Venezia_. You could have no idea where you are, but still be _exactly_ where you need to be."

"That makes no sense," Santana whined, but still followed Quinn when she took a left and began strolling down an alley filled with flowers of every colour hanging from wrought-iron balconies. "I've been trailing you for the past two hours down narrow streets, over bridges and canals."

"Uh-huh," Quinn murmured softly, stopping abruptly, Santana running into the back of her. "Only when you are truly lost will you find the best Venice has to offer." Santana was distracted by the way her body fit perfectly up against Quinn's that she was still flush against her when the taller girl spun round to meet her eye. The blonde gave a wink and beckoned her into a shop to their right. "Come on."

Santana was assaulted with colours of every spectrum as soon as she crossed the threshold. The store stretched fifty feet back, and every surface was covered with the most beautiful masks she had ever seen. They hung from every beam and rafter, wall and shelf.

"Wow," Santana voiced in amazement.

"I know right."

Santana brushed her fingers over a black and red mask with a long nose sitting gently on a display cabinet. Gold filigree lined the eyes, the waxed surface smooth to the touch. She picked it up carefully and pressed it to her face, admiring her reflection in a small mirror hanging on one of the wooden supports.

"_Medico Della Peste_."

"What?"

Santana spun around at the sound of Quinn's voice, the mask still held up to her face. Her eyes were met with light green and ivory, with silver and blonde.

"Um, what did you say?" Santana stuttered, losing her train of thought. The silk green of the delicate mask made Quinn's eyes blaze behind the papered material that just covered her cheekbones and slender nose. Lucky for Santana that she still had her mask in place, or she may have resembled a deer in headlights.

_Attractive._

"Mask of the Plague Doctor," Quinn explained. She turned Santana back to the mirror as she spoke. "They used to wear them in hope that they wouldn't contract the disease while they were treating its victims."

"You're like a walking Frommers," Santana commented, hyper aware of the girl's hands gently resting on her shoulders as they looked at each other through the reflection. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I just like to read," she chirped, and dropped her hands, wandering off to return her mask. Santana quirked an eyebrow at the way she abruptly dismissed the subject, but she let it drop, replacing her own back on the shelf.

"Something tells me we didn't wander it to this shop so you could give me an impromptu history lesson," Santana called over her shouldered, continuing to browse through the extensive collection.

"Look at you go, being all perceptive," Quinn teased, holding up a soft pink mask and showing it off to Santana. "And no, I did not," she finished, bringing it back from her face. "Pick one."

"Pick one?" Santana wheeled around and skimmed her eyes over all the highly decorated masks, waiting for Quinn to explain further.

"Mmhmm," she hummed with a sly grin, placing the pink mask back down and wandering out of view behind a freestanding shelf.

"Okay," Santana digressed, turning to continue her search.

* * *

><p>Forty minutes, thirty euro, and one shop front later, the pair sat in the courtyard of a small restaurant overlooking a canal. The passage of water was lined with brightly coloured stone houses, old docks jutting out every few hundred feet. A distinguished, greying Italian man, dressed in a stripped shirt and red neck scarf, pushed by in a black boat filled with laughing tourist, the man serenading his customers as they floated by their small table.<p>

"I always wanted to go on one of them."

"One of what?" Quinn asked absently over the top of her menu.

"One of those canal boats," Santana said, looking back at the girl as she gestured toward the water. Quinn quirked her eyebrow, chuckling to herself. Or at Santana, the brunette wasn't so sure.

"Gondola."

_Yep, definitely me._

"Same thing," Santana retorted.

"Not really," Quinn responded with a smile, putting down her menu. "But good, because as soon as we eat we're going on one, after a small pit stop."

"You mean as soon as I figure out this menu," Santana complained. She stared at the weathered cardboard, the writing staring back at her completely foreign.

_Again, what am I doing here?_

"Are you holding it up the right way?" Quinn teased, taking a sip of water from her plastic _Aqua Panna_ bottle.

"Funny."

"Come on, Italian's easy," Quinn assured her with a wave of her hand, and picked her menu back up. "Just wait until we get to the Netherlands, then I think you'll be struggling."

Santana dropped her menu to the wooden table in shock, her stomach doing little flips of excitement.

"The Netherlands?" Santana repeated. "As in Amsterdam?"

"As in Amsterdam," Quinn confirmed, her eyes twinkling as she watched Santana's face light up. "You can't go to Europe and not go to Amsterdam."

Quinn dropped her hazel eyes back to the menu in front of her, but Santana continued to watch her as her heart rate tried to come back to a healthy level. There had always been a rebellious part of Santana, one she would bring out every so often for her parents benefit. So to hear that she would be having that experience with Quinn-

_Shit._

_With Quinn._

_Sex. Weed. Quinn._

Santana's heart rate picked up where it left off and slammed into overdrive, suddenly more anxious than excited. Her mind went into a panic. She could barely control the urge to reach out and touch her as it was. What was going to happen when that control was taken away from her?

"You okay?"

Quinn eyed Santana carefully, her blonde hair glowing in the afternoon sun. The brunette let out a shaky breath and nodded, fidgeting with her fork to keep her mind occupied.

"I'm fine."

She went back to the menu, skimming down the selections of pasta, trying to find a word that looked familiar. She told her head and her heart to calm down; they wouldn't be going there for at least two more weeks. She was getting ahead of herself.

A black haired man wandered over to their table and asked them in broken English for their orders. Quinn answered back in Italian, passing her menu to the man and giving him a smile, which he returned shyly.

"And for you, _signora_?" he asked Santana in a very thick accent. She glanced back down and pointed randomly to what she hoped was something edible.

"Very good," he bade before leaving them.

"So what are the masks for anyhow?" Santana asked, fishing hers out of the plastic bag, and admiring the black and gold material. "Are we planning on going all _Carnevale_ up in this place?"

"Not exactly," Quinn replied, toying with her napkin. "Just making the gondola ride a little more interesting."

"Won't we look like total tourists?" she asked sceptically, putting her mask up to her eyes.

"You with your '_I heart Venezia_' shirt?" Quinn jested. "Never."

"Hey, don't be hatin'," Santana joked, putting down her mask. "It's for my best friend, Britt. I promised her I'd bring her back a shirt from every city I went to."

The teasing went out of Quinn's eyes but her smile remained, "That's really sweet."

Santana gave an empathetic shrug before both girls fell into a comfortable silence until the food came out. The man returned, placing down their plates in front of each of them.

"_Buon appetito_."

"_Grazia_," Quinn replied, before picking up her fork.

"So, what's this pit stop we're taking before the gondola?" Santana asked around a mouthful of ravioli that was so good she nearly let out a moan at the table.

"That's for me to know," Quinn grinned.

"You know, sooner or later you're going to have let me in on what's going on in that pretty little head of yours. Don't think I'm going to let you just drag me all over Europe." Quinn bit her lip, a smile trying to break free from that perfect mouth. "What?" Santana questioned as she continued to stare, causing goose bumps to rise over her skin despite the heat.

"Nothing," she insisted, shaking her head softly. The subject was abruptly dropped, both girls finishing their meals while Santana sat in silence, replaying the conversation over in her head. What could she possibly have said to cause such a reaction from Quinn?

_All I said was she couldn't drag me everywhere, and that she was going to have to let me know what's going on in her pretty-_

_Shit._

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?"<p>

Quinn was currently holding up her empty water bottle to random people and muttering something in Italian that Santana couldn't quite catch. They'd been wandering round the tight streets of Venice for the past ten minutes, Quinn repeating this process to every one that walked past.

"Asking for directions," Quinn said over her shoulder, spotting another promising victim to her strange questioning.

"Why don't you just use your map?" Santana asked, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling the need to tell people she wasn't with this strange girl.

"Having a map means you know where you're going."

"Q."

"Lopez," she argued back. "Just go with it."

A large elderly man with a cane strolled by the girls, tipping his hat in greeting. Quinn asked him something, gesturing with the water bottle, a wide smile cracking his face. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning her in the right direction, and pointed out a street on their left.

"_Grazia_," she told him, before grabbing Santana by the hand and pulling her forward. "Jackpot."

They turned down a street marked _San Leonardo _and wandered down a few storefronts. The smell of aged grapes and damp wood hit Santana in the face, making her lightheaded. They walked into the shop, the temperature dropping with the cold stone floors. The back of the small store was lined with large barrels all labelled in Italian and marked with a price. Quinn approached the woman at the counter, and handed over her plastic bottle while pointing to the middle barrel.

"What is this place?" Santana asked, giving the room a once over.

"It's a wine cellar," Quinn said. "You give them an empty bottle, and they'll fill it up for three euro."

"Wine?"

"Yep," Quinn said with a smile. "If you thought French wine kicked your ass, wait 'til you try this."

"I didn't actually have any in Paris," Santana admitted meekly.

"What did you do then?" Quinn asked wide-eyed, turning around to eye the brunette in amusement.

"Mostly asked myself why I came here in the first place," Santana told her, leaning up against the stone wall and letting it cool her heated skin. "Then I met you, and you told me you'd show me."

"I guess we have our last destination then."

The older woman came back to the counter with the bottle, Quinn handing over a few coins and thanking her.

"Come on," Quinn called. "Harry's awaits."

"Hold up, who's Harry?"

* * *

><p>"Hemingway, Hitchcock, Capote. Woody Allen and Charlie Chaplin. They all sat right here."<p>

Santana stood outside an old bar that was quite a contrast in comparison to the rest of Venice. With its white stone walls and old English lanterns hanging above the wrought-iron windows, it looked like something out of a Johnny Walker commercial. After a few moments, Quinn drag her away from the oak front doors, and further down the street.

"We're not going in?"

"Nope, I just wanted you to be star struck for a second," Quinn grinned. "_That _is our destination."

She pointed to a large dock with two old jetties pointing off on an angle. It was crowded with people of every ethnicity standing in small groups, the gondolas docked against damp wooden poles shooting out of the water near the jetty's edge. Quinn steered her through the crowd and up to the ticket booth, an older man with a kind smile greeting them from behind the small window.

"Gondola for two," Quinn told him, gesturing with her fingers.

"There will be a half an hour wait," the man replied, looking down at a logbook filled with names and figures.

"That's fine," Quinn said, passing him a few colourful notes and giving him her name. Both girls sat down on the bench overlooking the water while Quinn unzipped her small backpack and retrieved the large bottle of wine, unscrewing the top.

"To the unexpected."

She met Santana's eye for a moment, before bring the bottle to her lips and taking a generous swig of the deep red wine. She offered the bottle to the brunette, giving her encouraging smile.

"Won't we get caught? Santana voiced nervously. "You know, drinking in public?"

Quinn gave a small shake of her head, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"Cheers," Santana announced awkwardly, before taking a sip. The warm, rich liquid heated her stomach and coated her tongue with a strong grape flavour. There was no biting aftertaste she remembered from the wine she would have with her parents at one of their many dinner parties, it was actually surprisingly easy to drink, and she found herself taking another swig.

"Easy there, tiger," Quinn said, grabbing the bottle back. "You'll be on the floor before we get on the gondola."

The two girls passed the bottle back and forth, the afternoon sun creeping towards the expanse of water that reached across to one of Venice's smaller islands in front of them. As throngs of tourists boarded the small boats, the dock filled up with more to replace them, each group carrying a bottle of champagne or red wine. By the time their name was called, Santana's vision had narrowed, and her arms and legs felt lighter. Her head spun when she stood up, a dopey grin gracing her lips.

"Told you," Quinn murmured, noticing the blissful look on her face. They made their way over to the dock, the gondolier helping them to their seats opposite each other. Their driver pushed off from the jetty using his long oar, and slowly started navigating the small canals as the girls sat back and admired the beauty that was Venice.

"Would you like to try?"

The George Clooney look-a-like was eyeing Quinn with a sleazy smirk. By this time the blonde was just past tipsy, and jumped up without any hesitation, stepping up onto the platform with the tall man. Santana watched as Quinn took the black oar with a giggle and started moving it about.

"Like this," he told her, grabbing her waist and steadying them into a rhythm. Santana's heart ached as the man got closer behind Quinn, which was completely irrational considering she'd only known the girl for thirty-six hours, but the pain didn't stop. He pressed his face into her neck as she continued to laugh, Santana suddenly despising Italian men. It was a full two minutes and thirty-eight seconds before Quinn stepped back down to her seat, Santana letting out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

"You were looking pretty jealous there, Lopez," she teased once she took her seat. "If you wanted a go, you could've just asked."

Santana laughed it off nervously, the girl not knowing just how right she was. Quinn took a sip of the slowly emptying bottle and lazed back in her upholstered wooden seat.

"Oh, almost forgot," Quinn announced louder than necessary. "Masks," she finished, pointing an accusatory finger at Santana, making her think she'd had a little too much of the cheap wine.

Quinn reached into her bag and retrieved the light green mask that she had first tried on that morning. It looked truly amazing on her. It contrasted and complimented her every feature perfectly.

"Help me put it on."

She passed it to her and turned around expectantly. Santana took in a steadying breath at the sight of Quinn's bare neck as she craned her head forward to give her better access. She leaned over her shoulders, holding the mask out for Quinn to grab and position over her eyes. She brought the ribbon back behind her head and tied it securely, taking a much needed breath as she sat back in her chair.

"How do I look?"

_Fucking hot._

"It looks good," Santana blurted, mentally scolding herself.

"_Bella_," the gondolier chimed in, causing Santana to shoot daggers in his direction.

"Okay, your turn."

Santana passed Quinn her mask and turned around to face the stone wall that they floated by, slowly giving way to a narrow street filled with shoppers and tourists. She brought her hands up to take hold of the mask, brushing her fingers against Quinn's as she positioned it over her eyes. She could feel her tie it gently behind her head, just below her high ponytail, the wine heightening every soft touch the girl made to her skin as she brushed away her hair from her neck.

"How does it look?" Santana asked, turning back around to face Quinn, hoping her emotions didn't show on her as blatantly as she felt them.

"Fucking hot."

Heated pooled low in Santana stomach at her daring words, and didn't stop until it reached in between her legs. It only intensified when Quinn sat down next to her and pulled out her Sony Cyber-shot, leaning in and taking a photo with her arm outstretched.

_Three weeks, three weeks, three weeks._

_I am so fucked._


	3. I: Could It Be I'm Falling In Love

"One down, twenty more to go."

Santana pulled the cool white sheets up around her neck, lying back in the darkness of their hotel room.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Quinn murmured. Santana could tell she was smiling even though sleep was clear in her voice.

"Thanks for today," she whispered back as she rolled over to face her, the dim moonlight from the window illuminating her features. "I had fun."

There was a long silence before Quinn answered, Santana listening to the even breathing coming from the bed beside her.

"Goodnight."

The brunette rolled back over and faced the wall, trying to get comfortable. Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into hours, but she couldn't get her mind to shut off. She could hear Quinn snoring softly next to her, her heart clenching at the calming sound. How was it possible that she had fallen for this girl in less than two days; the premise defied logic, which was something Santana wasn't short of. And she knew the more time she spent with Quinn, the worse it would get.

It was everything.

Her hair.

Her eyes.

Her voice.

Her passion.

The way her face would light up when she knew she was sharing something special with Santana, opening her eyes to something that was once unknown.

The way she would smile and laugh when the brunette was out of her depth, or said something endearing.

Or the way she would be so confident when it came to others, yet shy away from a compliment, almost surprised to hear it directed at her.

All this and it had only been forty-three hours.

And the worst part was that after the three weeks were over, she wasn't sure she'd ever see her again.

No good would come of this.

None.

* * *

><p>The sun reflected off the expanse of concrete that stretched out before her. The heat rising up from the ground caused sweat to bead on her forehead, and her thin singlet to stick to her uncomfortably. There was no escaping it.<p>

"It's so fucking hot," Santana whined in exasperation.

"That's what the gelato is for," Quinn pointed out unhelpfully, passing her the small cup of cold ice cream, before turning back to the counter and paying the woman.

Santana had stepped off the boat that had taxied them from the mainland to be confronted with the overwhelming sight that was _Piazza San Marco_. There really were no words to describe the sheer size and wealth of the centre of Venice, with its endless stone arches and thousands of glass windows that bordered the expanse of open area filled with tourist stalls, and restaurants, and local wares.

It was truly awe-inspiring.

Santana attacked her already melting gelato with the small plastic spoon, relishing the cooling effect it had on her tongue and throat. The subtle creamy flavour of the strawberries was heaven for her taste buds.

_Oh. My. God._

_Why does everything taste so much better in Europe?_

She looked over at Quinn, watching her carefully as she took her first bite of cookies and cream, a childish grin gracing her pink lips. Her tongue darted out and wiped a stray drip from the corner of her mouth. Santana diverted her eyes, trying to think about anything but how that tongue would taste. She looked out over the thousands of tourist milling about just outside the gelateria, trying not to be caught once again staring at the girl's teasing perfection.

"So, what's on the itinerary for today?"

Santana trailed behind Quinn as she walked out of the shade and into the crowded square. The blonde slipped on her aviators, the sun shining into her eyes as she surveyed the square.

"I thought we could take an organized tour," Quinn told her, walking through a flock of pigeons and sending them scattering. There was something in Quinn's tone that peaked Santana's interest, almost as if it was some kind of inside joke. Then again, this girl seemed to be able to make even the most ordinary of experiences memorable.

"Fine by me."

She followed her out into the throngs of tourists, most in large groups trailing behind a man or woman holding up an umbrella, or some kind of marker. A select few had brightly coloured earpieces, hurrying to catch up to their guide while looking around in awe.

"This one looks good."

Quinn stood behind a large group of tourists, all talking amongst themselves as they waited for their guide to start the tour. Most of them had a Nikon, or some other over-the-top camera strung around their necks, looking every bit the excited travellers.

"Quinn, they're Japanese," Santana voiced in confusion.

"You can't understand Italian anyway," Quinn reminded her, dragging her behind the tour group as they began to move off. She clapped her hands excitedly as the Italian guide began explaining what Santana thought to be the history of the square.

_But I wouldn't know since I don't speak Japanese._

"How about we just find an English tour," Santana suggested, as if it was the most obvious solution to the language barrier.

"Quit complaining," Quinn berated playfully. "We just need for them to lead us, I'll do the rest."

Santana jogged to catch up to Quinn as annoyed travellers brushed past her, murmuring irritably, Santana only catching the word _Americans_ amongst a flurry of gibberish.

"So, you're like my own personal tour guide?"

"No, that's illegal," Quinn whispered loudly. "So if you see a cop, we're just friends," she finished, making a show of looking around suspiciously, causing Santana to laugh.

The group had started forwarding into a large white marble building on their right when Quinn grabbed Santana by the arm, and stopped her from following. The sudden obstruction caused the brunette to jerk back and look at her friend curiously.

"It's better from the outside," Quinn explained while pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, the structure providing some shade from the harsh sun. "Plus, it costs to go in."

"You are so cheap," Santana teased.

"Excuse me, who bought your ice cream?"

"Touché."

Santana's gaze shifted back to the building in front of them. Her eyes roamed over the intricate detail of the peaks and spires, and the gold and bronze of the statues. She looked back to Quinn to find the girl watching her with a smile.

"So, what is this place?" Santana asked after a moment, loving the feeling of Quinn's eyes on her a little _too_ much.

"This is Saint Mark's Basilica," Quinn answered, turning back to the building. "The most famous cathedral in all of Venice." She grabbed Santana by the shoulders and turned her toward the end of the square that overlooked the water. "See that guy there?" Quinn pointed out two large columns marking the entrance to Piazza San Marco, both sporting statues, one of a winged lion, and the other of a man holding a shield and spear. "That's Mark, the Patron Saint of _Venezia_. It used to be Theodore, the dude holding the spear, but Mark was hotter."

"Seriously?"

"No, not at all," Quinn grinned at the confused look on Santana's face. "Over a thousand years ago, two Venetians stole Mark's relics from Egypt, and brought them here to the basilica in hope to free Venice from their Byzantine influences."

Both girls stood admiring the cathedral, the blonde pointing out different features every few minutes when the Japanese tour group exited through the large doors. Quinn nudged Santana, breaking her gaze and nodded toward the group.

"Come on."

The morning sun reached higher in the sky as the day was spent with strange history lessons and odd looks from the tour group as they visited famous landmarks around Venice. Santana brushed off the disjointed, though at times entertaining history spouting from her new friend, more interested in watching Quinn's face light up as she spoke, her excitement and passion almost tangible.

The tour was enjoyable for the most part, but if Santana was honest with herself, she kind of missed the spontaneous Quinn from the day before; the one that would change their direction at the drop of a hat. Following somebody else's plan kind of took away from what made her fall for Quinn in the first place.

The tour stopped once they hit the Rialto Bridge, the group scurrying off to purchase different wares from the tourist stalls lining the wide stone bridge.

* * *

><p>"As much fun as this was, I think I liked it better when you just dragged me everywhere," Santana admitted, taking a sip of her coke as they waited for their meals. Quinn smiled at her from across the small table that overlooked the canal just under the bridge. She sat back rather smugly, eyeing her before speaking.<p>

"I know," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "So are you going to trust me now to show you a Europe that people under the age of _fifty_ want to see?"

Santana sat in stunned silence as Quinn giggled to herself.

"So what, you did this whole tour thing just to prove a point?"

"Well, you were complaining yesterday about it," she said with a shrug. "I thought I'd show you what you thought you were missing out on."

Santana shifted her gaze from Quinn's playful hazel eyes to the murky water to her left, the afternoon sun reflecting off its surface. When she first pitched this trip to her parents all those months ago, she thought she would be immersing herself in art, and architecture, and culture. That was the plan. But maybe this was something better, something more than what the guidebooks told her.

Something unexpected.

"Okay, you win."

"Win what?" Quinn edged innocently.

"You can drag me all over Europe, Q," Santana digressed, slouching back in her chair with a smile.

"Without purpose, or direction?" Quinn clarified, eyeing Santana hopefully.

"Without purpose, or direction."

* * *

><p>"Why are people molesting that statue?"<p>

"It's considered good luck," Quinn explained as she stood next to Santana in the crowded courtyard. "They say if you, you know, touch her, you'll find true love."

"Pervy."

"Don't act like you don't want to do it."

After lunch the day before, Quinn decided to move on from Venice, travelling back to the mainland for an early night. Santana was sure there were sights she was yet to see and culture she was yet to experience in the famous floating city, but she trusted Quinn to know what she was doing. Plus, she could always come back.

They'd boarded the first train for Austria that morning, but on pulling into _Porta Nueva _Station in Verona, the blonde hastily grabbed Santana by the arm and dragged her off the train seconds before the doors shut behind them.

Santana followed her through the wide streets of Verona until she saw a large group of people outside a dirty back alley leading into an open courtyard. Both girls wandered into the narrow tunnel, the walls lined with thick graffiti and notes stuck to the brickwork. There was a bronze statue of a woman in the far corner underneath a very picturesque balcony that jutted out from a two story stone house to their right.

Santana didn't need Quinn to tell her what she was looking at. Hell, she'd been roped into watching the movie with Brittany enough to last her a lifetime.

_Juliet's Balcony._

Santana was shocked at how different it looked in real life. Gone were the beautiful sandstone walls, along with the quant courtyard. They were replaced by declarations of love covering almost every surface, written in marker and ink of all kinds; some even resorting to sticking paper messages straight onto the old brick. Also taking away from the movie magic was the souvenir shop taking up the majority of the left wall of the courtyard. It was then that Santana noticed people walking up to the statue and groping her well-worn chest, each smiling to an awaiting camera.

"Hey," Santana retorted in response to Quinn's earlier assumption. "I never said I didn't want to, I was just merely pointing out the perverted nature of the tradition."

"Go get her, tiger," Quinn jeered, slapping Santana on the ass before she moved up next to the statue. The brunette bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to stop her ear-splinting grin caused by the gesture. She semi-composed herself, before turning around to face Quinn and her already waiting Sony Cyber-shot.

"Say cheese, you perv," Quinn called from behind the camera. Santana's grin broke from her lips at the taller girl's words, her hand placed securely over the cool bronze bust. The darker girl watched as Quinn spun around to an older couple and handed over her camera, motioning toward the statue. The next moment, a warm hand was placed over Santana's and unwavering hazel eyes bore into hers. Time seemed to slow; either that, or Santana was staring again.

Either way, she wasn't brought back until the warmth left her hand and Quinn was calling her name. Santana shook her head slightly and jumped down from the raised cement platform. She pushed through the crowd to the entrance where Quinn was waiting, flipping through the photos on her camera. She reached an already giggling blonde, who began to walk once Santana was in tow.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she dismissed with a straight face.

"_Q_."

Quinn reluctantly passed her the camera as they merged into the crowded street. The screen was paused on the photo of Santana alone with the statue, a huge grin gracing her lips and her eyes squinting mid-laugh.

"Wow, that's derpy," Santana commented.

"That's going straight on Facebook."

Heat rose in Santana's cheeks as she flipped to the next photo of the girls together. She thanked all that was Holy that Quinn didn't comment on this photo as well. They were both staring at each other, Juliet standing in between them with white skin covering tan in the middle. But it was the way that Quinn's eyes blazed in her direction, even in picture form, that caused red to spread across her face and her heart to pick up the pace.

_It's just a picture, nothing more. _

_Just a picture._

"So, what's next?" Santana asked, switching off the camera and handing it back, trying her best to ignore the ache that had reside itself in her chest.

"Well," Quinn began nervously. "I've got something I've always wanted to try, but you have to promise not to hate me."

* * *

><p>"I hate you."<p>

"Don't be like that," Quinn pouted. "It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Santana scoffed. "Quinn, I'm wearing rubber that smells like fucking seaweed and man sweat. What's about this is good?"

The blonde giggled to herself, pulling her shirt over her head to reveal a light blue bikini top and perfectly toned abs.

_Scratch that. Everything is good and just in the world._

"I think you look cute," Quinn muttered, her shirt getting caught around her neck.

"You are such a bad liar," Santana replied half-heartedly, still distracted by the flawless being before her.

_How is this girl real?_

"Would I lie to you?" Quinn asked, throwing her shirt to the ground and unbuttoning her jeans.

"Um, yeah," Santana retorted. "You said we would be canoeing down a river. Does that look like a canoe to you?"

Santana thrust a finger at the six-man raft, fitted with safety straps and a first aid kit to their right. On the three-hour train ride into the Tyrol Mountains, Quinn explained that she'd booked an adventure boat ride through the Austrian Mountain range the night before. Santana should have known nothing in Austria would be anything but thrill seeking.

_These guys invented Red Bull for Christ sake._

"So I may have embellished a little," Quinn admitted. "If I told you the truth, you would've abandoned me in Innsbruck."

Santana pulled the zipper up on her wetsuit, trying to avoid eye contact with Quinn, seeing her puppy dog eyes in her peripheral. She turned her back, and sat down on a nearby log to pull on her matching shoes. She felt bare arms wrap around her waist from behind and a cold cheek rest against her own. She tensed under the touch, cool skin nuzzling against her jawline.

"Please," Quinn whispered hopefully in her ear.

How was she meant to say no to that?

"Fine," Santana huffed. "But you _so_ owe me, Q."

Quinn took back her arms with an excited squeal as the three other riders came down the gravelly hill from the bathrooms, their helmets in hand. Dave, their instructor, briefly introduced the girls to them while they were getting fitted for their gear. The three Englishmen seemed nice enough, although a little sleazy in Santana's opinion, but they filled out the raft so she couldn't really complain.

"Lookin' good girls," one of them piped up.

_On second thought._

* * *

><p>Freezing cold water sprayed up into the raft as it smashed down over rapids and rocks. The ice grey of the water didn't help the intense chill that reached up Santana's back and spread to all her extremities as she tried to paddle the boat with the rest of the group. The burning in her biceps from the sheer effort it took to tear through the water wasn't enough to warm her either.<p>

"Now, this is all about trust," Dave shouted in his thick Irish accent. "You have to _trust_ that your partner will carry your weight, and vice versa."

The burly instructor was getting the girls to stand up, and using their interlocked oars, lower each other until they just skimmed the water's surface. It was proving quiet comical for Quinn, her childish laughter echoing off their rocky surroundings. Santana wasn't trusting of her friend at all at this point, and didn't understand why they couldn't just go down the river like all the other surrounding rafts were doing. But she was starting to learn very quickly that Dave was rather eccentric, and that she needed to get use to this if she wanted to get through the next twenty minutes unscathed. Nevertheless, on their second turn at the strange game of give and take, Quinn slipped, sending Santana straight into the water.

"S-s-shit," Santana managed as she broke the surface, the cold taking away her ability to form cohesive sentences.

Dave quickly grabbed hold of her lifejacket and pulled her out as if she weighed no more than a set of dumbbells. She lay sprawled out awkwardly, trying to get her bearings as she coughed up saltwater, the fresh air burning on the way down. Her ears were met with boyish laughter from her rowing mates and a hard pat on the back from Dave.

"Oh shit, are you okay?" Quinn gasped out between fits of laughter, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder as she sat slumped on the floor of the small raft. Santana didn't say a word. Instead, shoving Quinn hard into the icy water.

* * *

><p>"Wetsuit and jacket on the hangers, and shoes in the bucket," Dave announced to the shivering group. "Towels are on the bench as you go towards the showers."<p>

He forwarded off behind the wooden out buildings to change out of his own gear as the three boys began to strip, throwing their clothes into the right piles before moving off as well.

"I-I can't feel my f-feet," Santana gasped as she peeled off her wetsuit, shivering harder when the cold wind hit her bare skin. She pulled the suit down to her hips, and turned to grab a towel from the wooden bench.

Quinn was waiting with a large white towel, wrapping it around Santana, and rubbing her palms up and down her arms.

"What a-about you?" Santana asked, not wanting the delicious friction to end, or the closeness of Quinn's body either. The girl just gave a shrug in response and continued with her ministrations.

"Better?" she asked after a moment.

"Mhmm," Santana hummed, not trusting her voice enough to articulate anything at this point.

Quinn turned away, grabbing a towel of her own along with her backpack and nodded toward the showers at the back of the open area. Santana stripped off the rest of her suit and followed her to the wooden building.

The hot water was heaven on her frozen skin; although so were Quinn's hands. Santana tried her best not to think about what her friend was doing just over the divider. Instead, she tried to concentrate on letting the hot water warm her. If she let her mind stray to the next stall, she would be needing a very different kind of shower. Santana savoured the last few minute under the hot spray, before grabbing her towel and drying off.

"You done, Q?" Santana called, securing her towel around her and pushing the stall door wide when she couldn't hear any running water. "Qui-"

Air completely left her lungs, making it nearly impossible to finish her sentence. What her eyes were met with nearly made Santana drop her hand clutching the towel. Quinn had her back to her in nothing but barely there panties as she pulled on her jeans that rested just above her upper thighs.

_Fuck me. _

_I think I'm going to need that shower._


	4. I: I've Got You Under My Skin

**A/N: Before you start, a question that I have been asked a lot is have I been to these places they are going. The answer is yes, so hopefully they'll be as accurate visually as possible.**

* * *

><p>The cold mountain air whipped around her ears and settled in her still damp hair, sending a chill down her back. Her gaze skimmed over the beautiful view from her wooden folding chair on the balcony of the gas station. Miles of crystal blue lake stretched out to her left and right, with iced capped peaks beyond the water's edge. The sun was slowly reaching the horizon, painting the quaint houses with a slight orange glow that sat hundreds of feet below her.<p>

Santana sucked in a large breath of crisp air, her mind still screaming from what she'd seen just over an hour ago. She replayed it over and over in her mind; whether to torture herself, or to remind herself it was real, the brunette didn't know. The instant she walked out of that stall, fire blazed deep in her stomach and made it physically impossible for her to move, or form coherent thought. She stood stock-still, and watched, and waited. She stood until Quinn turned around, covering herself with a t-shirt and quirking a perfect eyebrow.

"Like what you see?"

Santana had gawked at her and let out an uneasy cough, her face flushing a deep crimson at her words. She'd made a move to grab the backpack and busied herself with her own clothes, all the while feeling Quinn's eyes burn a hole in the side of her head.

What was she going to do?

She felt helpless and defeated; her chest ached so much she felt like she would explode, or have her heart stop at any moment. She knew how to make it stop. And if she was back in Ohio, and it was anyone else, she'd already have them up against a wall. But this wasn't Ohio, and Quinn just wasn't some random at a party. So that solution was just not an option at this point, especially when she still had over two weeks left with the girl.

What if she did make a move and Quinn rejected her, or her feelings weren't returned? Then she'd be stranded in the middle of a foreign country, making the situation even more complicated and more fucked up than it already was. Or worse still, Quinn _did_ feel the same way, putting their time together on a timer. A slow agonizing timer that would inevitably run to zero, and then they'd be saying goodbye to each other, possibly forever.

This vacation had gone from rebellious escape to personal hell within one train ride. A part of her wished she'd just shared a cabin with a creepy Italian guy, or a screaming family of four. The other part couldn't help shake the feeling, no matter how illogical, that they were fated to meet. That her waking up to blinding light and even more blinding beauty was beyond her control.

How she wished Brittany were here. She always had a way of making her problems seem less important, or less daunting somehow. Just with a smile, or a playfully nudge to her side she would forget about her troubles and relax into her bubble of pure sunshine. God she missed Brittany.

She got up from her chair and paced to the cold metal railing, gripping it tightly. The icy sting on her palms helped to filter her thoughts, and let her concentrate on the speedboats and swimmers that looked like ants from where she stood. It let her concentrate on the faint ripples on the glass-still water, and on the birds that shot out the sky and dove into the ice blue surface.

"Hope you're hungry."

And just like that, her world was plunged straight back into the deep end, where her body seemed content to drown. Santana stole herself the last few seconds of clarity, before turning around to meet those hazel eyes and that bright smile that had become like a drug to her over the past three days; high inducing, addictive, but overall damaging.

"I got Goulash, Schnitzel, and Almdudler."

"Almdudler?"

Quinn handed Santana the bottle of deep yellow liquid with a smile and took her seat opposite her on the back deck of the large service station. Their bus had stopped at the roadside services for dinner before they were to enter Vienna, Santana all too happy to let Quinn do the ordering at the buffet.

She looked down at the red-labelled bottle with slight scepticism, before twisting the top off and taking a mouthful of the fizzy drink. It coated her tongue with an herbal lemon flavour that caused Santana to screw up her face as she choked slightly and placed the bottle back on her tray.

"It's um, interesting," she coughed, running her tongue around the inside of her mouth in an attempt to identify the odd flavour.

"You say that now," Quinn laughed, taking a large gulp of her own bottle. "But it's actually rather addictive after a while."

"If you say so," she murmured, and dragged the hot bowl of soup toward her. The spices and the full flavour of the Goulash sent her taste buds alight, and had her spooning more into her mouth. "Can we just eat our way through Europe instead?"

Quinn giggled, and turned to look out over the railing and down to the water. A peaceful smile graced her pink lips, and Santana watched her with rapt attention. She seemed so at ease with the world, no matter how foreign it was to Santana; Quinn just belonged. She almost thrived on the diverse cultures and experiences.

"I promise I'm not complaining," Santana began, earning a curious glance from Quinn. "But I'm just wondering how a nineteen year old with no map and no plan knows her way around Europe. Have you like, been here before or something?"

Quinn took a breath and bit her lip. Something flickered in her eyes, so quickly Santana may have just imagined it. She only noticed it because she'd seen it earlier that day when Quinn had told her they'd be canoeing through a mountain range. Then again, she had only known this girl for three days; knowing what the other girl was thinking was again, beyond logic.

"I was just a very imaginative child, I was always intrigued by the mysteries of the world at a young age," the blonde replied, bringing a piece of veal up to her mouth. "As I said before, I just liked to read. _And_ it's what brought me here."

"How so?"

"I'm interning at a travel magazine when I get back to London. I at least wanted to have Europe under my belt before I started, hence the trip," she said with a wave of her hand, indicating the view. "Though I never intended to have company."

_You and I both._

* * *

><p>The coach pulled into the hotel's parking lot just after dark, jerking to a stop outside the front entrance. Both girls piled off the bus, their heavy rucksacks in hand, and forwarded into the lobby as it pulled away.<p>

Santana was beginning to notice the difference in hotels the further north they went. Creaking stairs and wooden floors turned into elevators and glass sliding doors. Only down side was that it was getting colder, which meant singlets were replaced with hoodies, and creamy skin was covered by cloth.

_On second thought, let's go north._

"Twin room, two nights," Quinn told the concierge behind the front desk. Santana dropped her bag with a thud and took a seat on a nearby leather couch. She looked around the large, high-ceilinged foyer, keeping her friend in her peripheral.

"Name?" the young man chimed, not looking up from his computer screen.

"Fabray."

Santana's head shot up, her gaze training on the blonde. Up until now, for whatever reason, Santana hadn't known the girl's last name, and she hadn't bothered to ask either.

_Quinn Fabray._

"Here you go," the man said, handing over two key cards. "Room 1402, second floor, corridor B."

"_Dunke_."

Quinn picked up her bag and slung it over her front, walking over to where Santana was sitting.

"Come on, roomie."

"Fabray, huh?" Santana whistled, getting up from the couch. "Pretty."

"Thanks, my daddy gave it to me," Quinn retorted, poking her tongue out at Santana and turning to lead the way up the escalators.

_I can think of a few other things your parents gave you._

Santana unabashedly admired the girl's natural gifts as she stepped onto the metal walkway. Since it didn't exactly pan out so well the last time she stared at the girl's ass, Santana was in a way asking for the incessant, every present ache that shot through her chest that had her hands moving to bury deep in her jean pockets. But it wasn't like she didn't try to look away. Lord knows she did. But Quinn was making it very difficult, almost as if she knew Santana's eyes would be glued to her on their ascent.

_I mean, who wears a thirty-pound rucksack on their front? _

_That could hardly be comfortable._

Santana was saved from the torment when Quinn swung the door to their room open and ushered her inside. Without a second thought, she threw herself onto one of the double beds and sunk happily into the soft comforter. It wasn't until she relaxed that she realized just how much her muscles were screaming at her from the white-water rafting earlier that day. Her arms felt dead and her back ached. Couple that with her already frustrated libido, and she was ready to die.

_Let me sleep._

She felt the sudden pull of sheets and a hand roughly shoving her over before pulling her back into position. Heavy covers were tossed haphazardly over her limp body, her exhausted mind not quite registering what was happening until she heard a soft goodnight, before darkness claimed her.

* * *

><p>"Can't we just stay in here?"<p>

"It's a toilet, Santana."

"But it's so pretty."

The dark marble walls acted as mirrors, reflecting all light that was in the large bathroom. A row of sinks lined one of the walls, with sharp edged cube basins underneath. The shiny silver taps each had a neon blue light that shone into the flow of water, making it glow as it fell to the sink below. The whole room looked like a very expensive work of art.

"It's motion sensitive," Santana gushed, waving her hand in front of the tap and letting the water flow down the metal flute.

"We didn't come here so you can marvel at their taps," Quinn chastised playfully. "We came here because you said you wanted bling."

"_And_ I needed to pee."

"Two birds, one stone," Quinn deadpanned. "And I told you Almdudler was addictive."

"I'm from Lima, Ohio," Santana argued, washing her hands under the miniature water feature. "Let me have my fun."

She dried her hands and reluctantly pushed open the heavy door into the lower level of the three-story Swarovski store in downtown Vienna. Crystal sculptures of animals, and fruits, and mythical beasts lined the walls behind glass cabinets. A large chandelier, stretching from the floor to the roof, glinted and reflected the soft light from the down lamps, shattering broken light all over the dark walls.

"I think I'm in heaven."

"This is what your heaven would look like?" Quinn questioned over her shoulder, her attention on a black and red dragon in its display case.

"Uh-huh," Santana breathed.

"Wonder what your hell would look like," Santana heard Quinn mumble as an afterthought, her gaze still trained on the crystal dragon.

_Heaven or hell wouldn't matter. You'd still be there._

Quinn straightened up, turning and smiling at the brunette before heading for the escalators leading to the ground floor. Santana stepped on to the moving stairway, captivated by the wall next to her. Large mirrored plates, a hand span wide, covered the entire wall. They moved every which way, creating the illusion of rippling water.

"Do you think they'd sell me this as wallpaper?"

Quinn just grinned and shook her head as Santana continued to stare at the wall of mirrors. The escalator opened out onto the ground floor, sculptures and figurines turning into earrings and necklaces. Santana squealed with glee, and ran to the first display rack in sight.

"Just so you know, I'm giving you a limit," Quinn called after her before she could get too excited.

"What, why?"

"Because forget two months, your trust fund won't last two minutes in this place if I don't," she said, running her fingers over a four-leaf clover pendant hanging from a thin silver chain.

"Fine," Santana huffed, and turned back to the pair of earrings she was admiring.

She walked the small aisles of sparkling bracelets and rings, all the while keeping an eye on Quinn. Watching what she turned her nose up at, and what made that smile she loved so much light her face. She wasn't intending on buying her anything, that would just be way too forward and suggestive, but it was still nice to know one more thing about the girl she so desired. She _would_ call it future reference, but them having any resemblance of a future after these few weeks were over was a thought she didn't like to dwell on, especially about how unrealistic that notion would be.

_London for a year, then back to New York, versus small town Ohio. _

_Yep, never gonna happen._

Santana turned her gaze back to the racks and continued her search, Quinn watching her out of the corner of her eye to make sure she didn't get too trigger happy with her wallet.

After much debate and chastising from Quinn, Santana had picked out a pair of single stud white earrings and a large black stoned ring. She tried to get away with a matching necklace, but her friend wasn't having it, telling her three hundred euro on jewellery was enough for one day.

She handed them over to the older woman behind the long counter, while Quinn got a plain silver bracelet with a crystal accenting the clasp to her left. They took their purchases and left the store through the sliding doors, and out into the crowded main strip of Vienna. The sun was high in the sky, creating cool little rainbows when it hit Santana's new earrings.

"What's a _Schoko_ Museum?" Santana asked, looking up from the velvet box and spotting a moving advertisement on the building opposite. German flashed up on the TV, pictures of smiling faces and giant metal vats with men in lab coats fading in and out in quick succession.

"Chocolate," Quinn stated simply as she continued to walk down the crowded shopping strip. Santana spun around, startling her friend.

"They have a _chocolate_ museum?" Santana exclaimed in shock. "Like a museum filled with chocolate?"

Quinn laughed at Santana's adorable ramblings and nodded her head, the darker girl's eyes going wide.

_Vienna, where have you been all my life?_

"They have museums for everything in the Germanic countries."

"Everything?"

"Everything," Quinn confirmed, grabbing a hold of Santana's arm. "Come on, I'll show you."

* * *

><p>"I think he's drunk."<p>

"Yeah, he is," Quinn whispered back, masking a giggle with a cough.

The two girls had walked into the foyer to be met by the smell of varnished wood and the overpowering scent of distilled alcohol. The room was small with old wooden desks lining the walls, and old photographs hanging off every surface. A large silver cash register was the main focus of the room, Santana running her hands over the tarnished metal keys. The money tray popped out unexpectedly, making a loud_ ding, _and causing the girl to yelp and fall back into Quinn.

Santana looked up to find a large red-faced man with wild wisps of white hair standing before her. He smiled warmly at them from behind large rimmed glasses, his hand on a small lever on the register. The man chuckled to himself, obviously the cause of the draw opening abruptly. Quinn was giggling along with him while Santana put her hand to her heart and willed it to go back to normal.

"He puts shots in his coffee instead of sugar," she continued to whisper in her ear as more tourists forwarded into the front room. "And he drinks a _lot_ of coffee."

Santana shuffled backwards as the room filled to capacity, the other tourists chatting excitedly amongst themselves. She could feel the taller girl pressed up against her back, flaring the ache in her chest and the all too familiar one between her legs. Warm breathes tickled the bare skin of Santana's neck as she fought to keep her composure, willing her mind to think of anything but their proximity, or the fact that if she just turned her head-

_Man, these floorboards are really dirty._

_Is that a bug?_

"Hello everybody, and welcome to the Old Vienna Schnapps Museum," the Austrian man greeted, claiming Santana's attention from staring at the floor. He waved his arms about to get people to fall in closer around him, the quiet rasp of his voice filling the room. "My name is Gerhard, and this distillery has been in my family for five generations."

The rest of the man's spiel was lost on the brunette when Quinn rested her chin on Santana's shoulder. She tried to tune him in, but all she was getting was every other word, her mind completely drawing a blank at everything that wasn't Quinn. Santana shifted her gaze subtly to her friend, the blonde's attention caught up in the history of the museum spouting from Gerhard, completely unaware of the heart attack she was currently causing.

How she wished she could just drop her shoulder and move closer to the rest of the group, or better still, just turn her head and close the distance. But neither option lead to a place she ultimately wanted to be.

_Shove her off, and possibly hurt her feelings. _

_Or kiss her, and…_

That route was a complete blind spot for Santana. She was a realist, and she could usually see were the night was going with her conquests, but she was lost in that darkness with Quinn. She could read her, but not past the contents page, her actions were caught between friendly and mystery, and it was driving the girl insane.

"But if you'll follow me, I'll take you to where we make the schnapps," she heard the man say, before the group began to shuffle off, and Quinn stepped back.

The group forwarded into another office, much the same size and decor of the first, before turning right into a hallway lined with photographs. Each had a person Santana didn't recognize smiling with their arm around Gerhard. She skimmed her eyes over each photo until she hit one with a very familiar pale face and black fringe.

"Holy shit," Santana exclaimed, grabbing a hold of Quinn's arm and pointing to the picture behind its frame. "It's Marilyn Mason."

"He's a fan of their absinth, he buys a few bottles every time he comes to Vienna," Quinn explained knowingly.

"This crazy Austrian just got way more badass in my book."

* * *

><p>"Have you ever tried it before?"<p>

"Yeah, once," Santana said, slightly hesitant eyes on the green liquid. "But I'm thinking this stuff is going to be a little stronger."

"We'll do it together," Quinn told her, bumping her shoulder playfully.

The bartender poured the absinth into two shot glasses and pushed them toward the two girls. They took them in hand, both taking breathes as they looked at each other.

"Ready?"

"Cheers," Quinn grinned, clinking her glass with Santana's, before necking the whole thing.

Santana did the same, ignoring Gerhard's warning to just take it slow with the taste tests. The flavour was the same as she remembered, herbal and floral somehow, but the burn was way stronger as it heated her throat and stomach. She put her shot glass down next to Quinn's and let out a slow breath, trying to cool her mouth.

"What's next?"

The girls went on to sample all the bottles laid out on the old wooden bench in the shop at the back of the distillery. It was a cold tiled room with a bar on one wall, and a counter to its right with every kind of schnapps Santana could think of in stock. Other memorabilia, including t-shirts and postcards, hung from racks and in turn-style stands.

"Hey, look," Quinn motioned to Santana, pointing up behind the bar. "I think I found your Vienna t-shirt for Brittany."

Santana moved her gaze to a plain black tee with the words _I was told I had a good time_ written across the front, with a passed out stick figure underneath.

"That's perfect," she giggled, throwing back her shot which if she was honest she was only trying because it had flakes of real gold floating in the yellow liquid.

She moved over to the counter, her vision a little off kilter and pointed to the shirt. The woman behind the register nodded and went to retrieve it off its hanger.

"Do you miss her?" Quinn asked, leaning her elbow on the counter top and turning to meet Santana's gaze.

"Everyday," Santana answered honestly, the aching in her chest having nothing to do with Quinn. "She's the only thing holding me to Lima."

Quinn nodded thoughtful and turned back as the woman returned with the shirt, the empty look in her eyes not lost on the brunette.

"Well I'm buzzed," Santana announced, trying to break the strange tension that had come over the pair.

"No use wasting it sitting here then."

* * *

><p>"Are you trying to make me throw up?"<p>

Night had fallen over Vienna once they arrived in the parking lot of Prater. As soon as they stepped out of their cab, Santana eyes and ears were bombarded with neon lights and excited screams, mixed in with the faint sound of techno music. Rollercoaster tracks and enormous steel structures protruded over the fence of the back lot. Both girls wandered closer, Quinn grinning from ear to ear, and Santana's jaw on the floor. The roar of steel grinding against steel resounded in her ears as a cart of teenagers spun around the bend on the track to her left.

"You're insane."

"Race you to the Space Shot?" Quinn coaxed, skipping away from the shorter girl, only turning to wiggle her eyebrows.

Santana shook her head, her stomach doing nervous little flips. Partly from the adrenaline mixed with the alcohol in her system, and the other from the effect Quinn had on her.

_Fuck, you're adorable._

Santana only hesitated a second before running after her.

An hour later, her shoulder was slamming hard into a fiberglass cart, a scream ripping from her throat. She gripped the metal bar in front of her, her left side pressed tightly against Quinn's.

"Put your hands in the air, Lopez," Quinn laughed over the thumping of the bass coming from the sound system. Santana did as she was told, the force of the ride effectively throwing her into Quinn. The darker girl didn't have the energy, or the brain function to care how close their proximity was anymore; she revelled in it, not caring if she'd pay for it later.

She turned to Quinn, and for the first time since she met her, she was free to just stare. The music dimmed along with the screams of the other riders in their separate carts spinning in unison around them. The wind whipping her hair around her ears seemed to slow, and when their eyes locked she couldn't turn away.

Quinn's eyes blazed with life and an intoxicating sense of freedom. Santana was lost, and it was at that point she knew this is where she wanted to be; lost in those hazel orbs. Waking up to them. Loving them.

_Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her._

The ride jerked to a stop, and just like that the moment was broken, the attendant coming over to remove the safety bar. Santana giggled nervously, blinking a few times to regain some kind of composure.

"You're really cute when you scream," Quinn said in a small voice, Santana turning to find her still looking at her with those eyes.

_This girl is going to be the death of me._

* * *

><p>Santana tossed relentlessly, her body not letting her find rest. She huffed and rolled onto her side, looking over at the bed beside her, and at the rise and fall of the body that occupied it. The rhythmic in and out of Quinn's breathing did nothing to calm her.<p>

She knew this feeling well; she went all through high school feeling it. It became like an old friend. Once the flavour of the month rolled off, the frustration set in. And Santana knew there was only one way to relieve it before she did something she'd regret, or _someone_.

She stole herself and ran a hand down her toned stomach, breathing heavily. Partly from anticipation, and partly from attempting to do this with Quinn only a few feet away.

Santana clenched her eyes shut and willed away the rush of emotions that plagued her mind. All of them screamed at her that this was wrong, that it was too risky, but she shook her head and concentrated on just feeling, needing that more than any doubting thought. She snaked her hand lower, her fingers grazing the hem of her underwear. She gave one last glance to her sleeping friend, before pushing her hand underneath and squeezing her eyes shut once more.

She mapped out familiar ground, her skin burning and her stomach tightening with every touch. Her breath hitched and her heart quickened along with her fingers, the throbbing not easing or ceasing. She slammed her head down into her pillow in frustration, biting her lip and clenching her jaw, only working her fingers harder and faster, her forearm burning. But no matter the pace or pattern, she wasn't hitting the spot she so desperately needed to hit. Even the image of Quinn in nothing but a thong ghosting behind her lids did anything for her.

Soft skin grazed her arm, before long fingers joined hers, taking over her still constant motions. Santana's eyes snapped open to meet Quinn's dark fiery green gaze, her heart slamming into her throat. As soon as firm fingertips touched hot skin, Santana arched up off the bed, and gripped that pale arm in one hand and her bed sheets in the other.

"Let me help you," the blonde husked into her ear, teeth grazing her jaw and nipping at her skin. "Open your eyes."

Santana woke with a start, her breath coming out in gasps. Perspiration stuck her fringe messily to her forehead, and caused her bed shirt to cling to her uncomfortably. She looked over at her Omega on the bedside table, the hands illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window.

_3:47am._

_Only day five, and the sex dreams have already started. _

_Fuck my life._


	5. I: The Little Things Give You Away

"Quinn, this is twelve minutes of my life I'm never going to get back."

Santana stood in a paved square looking up at the clock tower as the automated knights and festival dancers spun in circles and jousted before her. She couldn't argue that the building itself was beautiful with its grey gothic stone and towering spires, but the clock was another story. She knew it was a national monument, and that it was one of the things you had to see before you kick the bucket, but the mere sight of it was literally driving the girl to drink.

Quinn stood next to her giggling manically as Santana watched with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Tourists crowded around the square, cameras shooting away as the last of the _dongs_ rang out.

"Do you understand twelve minutes?" Santana whined, turning on the blonde. "Does cruel and unusual punishment mean _anything_ to you?"

"I'm sorry, I had to," Quinn choked out. "The look on your face. Priceless."

The girl turned on her heels and started walking away from the square, humming the dull tune the Glockenspiel was playing only moments earlier. Santana huffed and jogged after her as she skipped down a side street, brushing through a crowd of men standing outside a beer hall.

After waking up in a cold sweat that morning, Santana hadn't been able to fall back asleep. The image of Quinn moaning into her ear and nipping at her jaw was enough to keep her eyes wide open and fixed on her sleeping form until she stirred hours later. The peaceful in and out of the girl's soft breathing was like a second hand on a clock; constant and rhythmic.

In, out.

3.53 am.

In, out.

4:16 am.

The morning sun began creeping through the open window, illuminating Quinn's every feature that the brunette had memorized over the past week, and more closely in the last few hours. So many times Santana found herself wanting to reach out and tuck that blonde hair away from the girl's face, the messy strands blocking those almond eyes. She spent most of the time imagining how soft it would be, how it would feel between her fingertips.

_I wish I could just grow a pair and tell you how I feel. _

_But with you it isn't that simple._

By the time Quinn opened her eyes, Santana was up and showering, her bags already by the door. She came out of the bathroom minutes later to sexy bed hair and a lazy smile that practically had her turning for the shower again.

_It should be illegal to look that good at seven in the morning._

They hopped a train north to Munich, crossing the border into Germany. Santana hadn't really noticed a change other than the buildings and the culture seemed older somehow. The accents were thicker, the food was heartier. It was just more.

Quinn stopped abruptly outside an old wooden door with flaking green paint and a blackboard hanging on the wall to the left. She spun around and smiled at Santana, before jerking her head toward the door and ducking inside.

"Is this where you whack me?" Santana called into the dimly lit passageway.

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd do it while you were sleeping," Quinn quipped back.

_Too late._

Santana mentally shook off the vivid images that the teasing words brought back, and followed her through the door. The smell of beer and roast meat hit her as soon as she closed the door behind her. The stone walls had her pulling her leather jacket tighter around her, bracing herself against the chill. Steps led down into a cellar like room, open flame lanterns hanging from the walls and lighting the way down. Each step she took echoed off the stone, the hollow sound mixing with the voices that got louder the lower they went.

Long wooden tables stretched out in rows in the large rectangular room, people crowding them, eating and drinking merrily. There were men in felt hats with large white moustaches, and women in skimpy outfits bustling through the crowd, serving the patrons their meals. One of the waitresses came over to them once they slid on to the end of one the tables. She handed them both menus, before rushing off to serve another group who had just entered. Santana only had time to set her eyes on her menu for a moment, before it was plucked from her grasp.

"I was reading that."

"I'll order."

"Ah, okay," Santana shrugged, a little unsure of why she was being so forward. Quinn usually enjoyed watching Santana struggle with ordering her food, though the language barrier _was_ getting easier by the day.

"We'll have a pork knuckle to share, and two Spezis, please," she told the woman when she returned. She nodded curtly and took their menus, rushing off out of view.

"Spezi?" Santana questioned. "It's not like that Almdudler stuff, is it?"

"Sort of," Quinn shrugged. "It's basically half Coke, half Fanta. It's like drinking a glass of sugar."

"That sounds awful."

"Don't judge until you try," Quinn scolded playfully. "Have I been wrong so far?"

"No."

Quinn giggled at Santana's attempt at nonchalance, the taller girl turning away to look out at the constant commotion of drink, laughter, and chinking glasses. It was interesting to take a backseat and just watch the world that Quinn was showing her. Back home, Santana could sit at Breadstix and watch a single mother of three yell at her kids for climbing up the back of the booth. Or watch her friends get drunk at the local lookout point like they'd been doing since they were old enough to drive.

But here, four thousand miles away, she saw two men that looked like they'd know each other for fifty years chant along to the accordion player in the corner. She watched as two women skipped around them in a joyous dance, bumping into tables of people who just laughed heartily in return. It was the little things in Europe that made the experiences richer and more vibrant than those she'd had back in Ohio.

_And I can also watch hazel eyes as they dart from the waitress, to the band in the corner, to the worn table top, to me-_

Santana looked away, her face flushing slightly just as the woman came back with their meal and drinks. She forked some mash potato and gravy, and brought it to her mouth. The rich flavour hit her taste buds, and her eyes flutter closed.

_Is there such thing as a food orgasm?_

"I'm not even going to say it," Santana mumbled around another mouthful, this time taking some of the meat with it.

"You don't need to," Quinn said, taking a sip of her drink. "The look on your face says it all."

Santana looked cautiously up into those playful eyes, suddenly afraid of what she'd see, or more so what Quinn could.

"Really?" Santana asked a few octaves too high. She coughed slightly, before regaining her composure. "Well Dr. Lightman, what else does my face tell you?"

"That you're madly in love with me."

Santana choked mid-swallow, grabbing a napkin to cover her mouth.

_Oh fuck._

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, that you're mad at your parents," Quinn repeated, eyeing her curiously. "I can see it in your eyes when you talk about them."

"Oh, right."

Just as fast as Santana's heart reached zero to sixty, it came back down to earth. Was she really hearing things now, or was it just that those were the words she so desperately wished to hear?

"Are you alright?"

_No._

Her brain was currently having a conniption fit right in the middle of the restaurant. Her hands were sweating, and her cheeks were flushed despite the chill.

"Yeah, fine," Santana dismissed, bringing her attention back to the food. "So what about yours? I don't think I've ever met someone that likes their parents, expect maybe Brittany."

"They were your average mid-west parents," Quinn shrugged, and took another bite of food.

There was that flicker again.

It really shouldn't annoy Santana as much as it did; it was Quinn's business what she revealed, and what she kept to herself. But Santana had been with the girl a week now, and she knew next to nothing about her. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything.

_What could be so bad that she feels she can't be honest with me about it?_

"People here really like their beer, huh?" Santana said breaking the silence that had stretched between them. She kept her gaze on two men hanging off each other's shoulders, singing loudly to no one in particular.

"You have no idea."

* * *

><p>"Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug."<p>

He slammed the empty stein to the table and thumped his chest wildly. Santana rolled her eyes at the maturity of boys, but still cheered along with Quinn who sat beside her.

After their late lunch, Quinn had taken her a few blocks over to what she described as the most famous beer hall in all of Munich. With its high ceilings and endless long benches, the _Hofbrauhaus_ was something else. There was a five-piece band in the centre playing traditional German music that filled the large hall, and merged with the yelling and celebrations of all the patrons.

The girls found an empty table near the band, but it wasn't long after their drinks arrived that they were joined by two boisterous Englishmen, and a blonde Swedish boy. They weren't sleazy like the guys they'd shared the raft with a few days earlier, but the way the tall blonde was looking at Quinn right now, it didn't matter.

"So where are you ladies from?" he asked them both, but kept his eyes on Quinn.

"Ohio," she replied sweetly, Santana forcing herself not to roll her eyes again. Instead she smiled at him, taking a mouthful of her own beer.

The night went on, beer and laughs flowing. Santana would look over to Erik leering at Quinn, and the ache would flare, threatening to swallow her whole. She didn't care to learn the names of the other two, though they certainly tried hard enough to strike up conversation with the brunette.

She was more than a little distracted.

Every small touch he gave to her exposed skin sent Santana's hands into fists, the uncontrollable urge to clock him one was overwhelming. And what was worse was Quinn seemed to be enjoying and even responding to his attention.

_Breathe, just breathe._

_Nothing's going to happen-_

Erik leaned in and began whispering into her ear, his fingertips running through her blonde hair.

"Would you like to dance?" Santana asked loudly to a very shocked dark skinned boy, but he covered himself and nodded eagerly. Santana shot up from the bench and turned to Quinn to make sure she was following. Her heart sank when he had her by the hand and was directing her toward the floor.

Santana thanked the heavens that German music wasn't sexy, giving him no chance to get closer than a foot from Quinn. He gave her a few good spins though, Santana trying to seem interested in her partner while staring at the two of them.

She'd loop her arms around Erik's neck, and his hands would slide dangerously close to her ass. It made Santana's skin crawl. She gritted her teeth and leant her forehead into her partner's neck, breathing through the nausea that had risen in her throat.

_Why was she doing this? _

_Oh yeah, maybe because she's straight._

They'd been dancing for nearly an hour when Santana heard something that made her nails bite painfully into her new friend's shoulder.

"How about we take this back to my place?"

The darker girl spun to see Erik pulling Quinn in for a kiss, which she coyly refused, turning her head at the last second, causing his lips to catch her cheek. She laughed politely at his playful pout and hungry eyes, but pushed firmly on both his shoulders.

"I think we're just going to go home," she told him, nodding toward Santana. "We have to be up early."

"Oh, come on," he urged, getting in closer and smirking in Santana's direction. "You can bring her too."

_Yeah, and I can bring my switchblade._

Quinn grabbed Santana by the hand and pulled her closer, effectively bring her in between her and the boy. Santana glared at him as he looked between the two of them, all too willing to kick him where it hurts if push came to shove.

He eventually backed up, grimacing and throwing a few snide comments at his buddies, who laughed along with him. Santana took the lead and practically dragged Quinn out the way they came. They broke out into the cool night air, the crowds outside the hall just as loud and as drunk as the ones still inside. They pushed through them and hit the empty street, their footsteps echoing into the darkness. They both stayed silent for a few blocks before Santana spoke up, not being able to control her morbid curiosity.

"So, why didn't you take him up on his offer?" Santana forced out, feeling the bile rising up in her throat again. "I would've been able to find my own way back to the hotel."

When she didn't get a response, Santana turned to find Quinn staring at her, or more specifically her lips. The girl bit her own, before flick her eyes up to wide brown ones.

"Not my type."

_Oh._

* * *

><p><em>Chink!<em>

_Dong!_

_Chink!_

_Dong!_

"Would you stop tipping her, please?"

_Chink!_

_Dong!_

"Just stop."

A pale hand came down on tanned skin just as Santana went to throw another euro into the small tin. She turned her head and looked into slightly hazy eyes, but still the same green she'd been staring at for a week. Santana tried again to lift her hand, but Quinn held it tightly to the counter top, narrowing her eyes in a playfully warning.

She'd been amused when she first gave the woman behind the bar a euro, the Austrian ringing a bell that hung behind the counter. But the more times she tipped her, the more irritated Quinn got, which turned from amusing, to funny, then to straight up hilarious. With every coin, the bartender would smile widely, and Quinn would glare.

Ever since the night before, Santana had been trying to find that look in Quinn's eyes again. The look she saw flash in them when she'd caught her staring at her. It was addictive. So once she found it with the first coin toss, she didn't want to lose it.

Quinn cautiously lifted her hand off Santana's and turned her attention to the shorthaired woman pouring glowing blue liquid into a tiny glass. The blonde threw down some coins on the tarnished wooden surface and picked up the shot.

_Chink!_

_Dong!_

"Must you do that every time?"

"Yep," she stated simply, and turned around to wipe down a bench with a wet dishtowel.

They had arrived in the small town of Hopfgarten earlier that day after saying farewell to Munich and crossing back into Austria. They'd hopped a bus, and for the next few hours small town after small town flew past the tinted windows. Endless pastures and cows greeted them until they hit this small pocket of paradise.

Santana felt like she'd just stepped into a fairytale. White stone buildings with brown tiled roofs crowded the town centre, while rolling green hills and iced capped mountains surrounded the miniature oasis, small houses dotting every few miles up the slopes. Narrow streets wound up into the countryside. Goats and chickens roamed around as if they were stray dogs. Elderly men tipped their hats in greeting when you walked past. It was a vast contrast to the bustling streets of Munich and Vienna, and Santana was pleasantly surprised at how calming it was.

They hadn't been checked into their hotel room an hour when Quinn discovered the small bar near the lobby. It wasn't much. It only had room for three stools up against the bar with a few tables spotted here and there. And it was completely deserted save for the bartender and a large white-haired man passed out at one of the tables.

But one thing it did have was Schnappy Hour.

And what a glorious hour it was.

Santana watched Quinn as she took the glowing shot to her lips and emptied it in one go. She slammed it down on the table, and made a sound that was beyond adorable, halfway between a cough and giggle.

"It tastes like burning," Quinn choked. "And rainbows."

"I'm sure it did," Santana agreed, preoccupied with her own clear orange schnapps. She dipped her pinky into the liquid and licked it.

_Zing._

"Wanna try some?"

Quinn was holding out the empty shot glass for Santana to take. The shorter girl grabbed the tiny glass and placed it down on the counter, before turning on Quinn.

"You drank all of it, Q," she said, getting closer to her, Quinn smiling lazily back at her. She could smell the sweet scent of the schnapps on her breath making her light headed. Their proximity once again was causing Santana to die a small death, but ever since the night before and that first glimpse of want, she'd become more daring in some respects.

"Not all of it," Quinn husked, and began to lean in closer.

Santana's slightly intoxicated brain wasn't registering what was happening until she felt hot breath on her open mouth, and then heard the crack coupled with a dull thud.

_Where'd you go?_

"I'm okay."

_Oh, you're on the floor._

Santana broke out into a fit of giggles as she stared at the mess of limbs on the cold tiles. Quinn looked back at her with a bright smile, grabbing onto Santana's legs to try and pull herself up off the dirty floor.

"I meant to do that."

"I think that's our cue, _Q_," Santana jested lamely, helping the girl to her feet.

She gave a backwards wave to the bartender, and patted the white haired man on the head on her way back into the lobby. She grabbed Quinn by the hand and steered her toward the bottom of the staircase.

"This should be interesting," she stated, looking up at the stairs. "There's so many of them."

"Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot," Quinn began chanting, bobbing her head from side to side. "Come on, roomie."

Step by step, they made their way up to their room on the second floor. Santana opened the door using probably the oldest key in existence, and ushered Quinn inside. Their room was quant with an old cottage style feel. There was a threadbare throw rug in between the two four-poster beds with a small television in the corner. It made Santana feel like she was back in a time of churning butter and smoking pipes.

_Did they have TVs back then?_

"I've decided that every hour should be Schnappy Hour," Quinn announced, flopping onto her bed and exhaling loudly. She turned over and faced the window, curling into the most adorable ball Santana had ever seen.

_Screw you, Quinn Fabray. _

_You and your adorable, spoonable ways._

The brunette's eyes began to droop, becoming heavier by the second. The soft pillows and clean sheets beckoned her into sleep. Just before her eyes slipped shut, her mind wandered back to Quinn as it always did every night. Only this time it was of her on the floor, giggling uncontrollably. Santana breathed out a chuckle at the image, before her eyes snapped open and she shot up, the sharp movement giving her a head spin.

_Hold up, Quinn just tried to kiss me._

* * *

><p>Her shins burned, and her back ached, every pore on her body dripping sweat. They'd been riding for the past twenty-five minutes through back streets, and then finally onto a long road stretching up into the mountainside. The sun beating down on them did nothing for Santana's throbbing head and still sensitive eyes. She trailed a few feet behind Quinn, her mind anywhere but on the pavement ahead.<p>

_She nearly kissed me._

Those were the only words running through Santana's mind on a constant loop. A loop that had started the night before, and she was pretty sure stretched into her restless dreams and into the morning.

_She did nearly kiss me, right?_

Santana breathed out heavily as she cycled harder up the steady slope, trying unsuccessfully to think of something other than the girl in front of her.

They had rented mountain bikes from their hotel, and were riding up to a park the manager said was a few miles up the road. It was a nice change from all the big cities and crowded streets she had become used to over the past few days.

She hit the top of the slope and turned onto a dirt path that led up to the bike racks of the park. A wooden arched building marked the entrance, a children's playground to the right and the gate to the pool area on the left. It was a surreal sight to see a public pool all the way up into the mountains, miles from anywhere. If Santana wasn't seeing it with her own two eyes, she would have sworn it was photo-shopped.

Quinn didn't waste any time, stripping in seconds and jumping in to the crystal blue water. She emerged seconds later, motioning for Santana to join her. She took her time taking off her singlet and shorts, all the while watching the blonde who kept her eyes on her the whole time. She shivered under the intense gaze before jumping in, the warm water washing away her previous chill. She broke the surface and swam over to where Quinn was wading in the deep end. Tendrils of short wet hair hung in her eyes, small water droplets glinting off her perfect alabaster skin. Santana was in awe of her, and she had a feeling it was showing. When Quinn swam left, she swam right, but her eyes stayed the same. It was like opposing magnets. Santana couldn't get close enough before she would push away. But if Quinn turned around, she knew they'd fit perfectly together.

The girl pulled herself out of the pool after about half an hour, lying down on her towel just up the small slope next to the water's edge. Santana rested her arms on the ledge, watching as she settle down, and pulled out her journal and a pen.

On every train and bus they had gone on, Quinn would always have her head in that leather bound book, forever writing. Santana would be lying if she wasn't a little curious as to what was in the journal. Did it hold all of her secrets? All of her wants and dreams?

_Did it say anything about me?_

Santana shook her head and pushed off from the edge, dunking herself beneath the surface. Those weren't smart thoughts to have; ones where the girl thought about her just as much as Santana did. It does no good to dwell on dreams, especially those that involve Quinn, naked and panting beneath her.

_Time to get out?_

_I think yes._

She laid down next to Quinn, putting her earphones in her ears and slipping on her Ray Bans. The soft melodies of Passenger was the playlist of choice; the soothing male vocals relaxing her as she let her eyes fall shut. By the end of the third song her skin was dry, and beginning to show the first signs of burning. She pulled out the tanning lotion, sitting up and lathering it on her arms and legs. She looked over to Quinn. Her pen had stopped and she was staring off into the distance, her mind far away.

"What do you write about?" Santana asked, not being able to help her growing curiosity, chastising herself for feeling hopeful about the answer.

"Words, thoughts," Quinn told her, switching her gaze back to her journal. "Everything."

_Everything. _

_That's not vague at all._

Santana laid back down and stared up at the blue sky, finding shapes in the fluffy white clouds. Looking up into the endless blue always made her think of Brittany. She and her best friend would always lie back on the blonde's trampoline in her backyard and look up at the sky. For hours they could get lost up there. Whenever things got hard for either of them, they would lay back and just be. No expectations, no distractions. Just her and Britt.

"They were alcoholics."

Santana had been absently tracing a cloud with an outstretched hand when Quinn's voice cut through their silence.

"What?"

"My parents," she clarified, turning her head to look at Santana. "They were, _are_ alcoholics."

Santana pulled out her earplugs, discarding them on her towel and regarded Quinn fully. She'd rested her journal face down on her stomach and shut her eyes against the sun.

"Before my parents got a divorce," she spoke through a shaky breath. "They were abusive, and drunk. So my sister and I would go up to my room, and pretend we were somewhere else. It got to the point where I'd actually want to be. I dreamed I'd be a thousand miles away. Away from the screaming, and the pain. Lose myself in the world, and forget about mine."

Not once did Quinn open her eyes. It was as if by opening them, it would bring back all the pain she spoke about, like reopening long healed wounds. She breathed heavily. Santana could see her chest rise and fall faster with each intake. Unsure of how to comfort her, or even if that was the appropriate thing to do, she did the only thing she knew how.

She related.

"And I thought I had it bad," Santana said with sympathetic eyes. "The non-existent parents. I'd get money in my account every week, a card on my birthday. I'm practically a sponsor child."

"But at least you had Brittany," Quinn sighed, turning on her side to face her. "I didn't have many friends growing up, at least none that stuck around when I moved to New York with my Mom."

"I was her first."

Santana didn't know why she said it. It was just the first thing that came out when she opened her mouth, and once the words were out it was too late, Quinn already regarding her with confused eyes.

"We were fifteen and had just gotten onto the varsity cheer squad at school," Santana began, her mind going elsewhere. "We were going to parties and drinking, doing all the things teenagers do. It got to the point where kissing and third base wasn't enough for the guys; they were always pushing for more. And being cheerleaders, we had a certain reputation to uphold."

Santana took a breath and looked back to Quinn. She couldn't read her expression, but one thing she could see was an overwhelming vulnerability that she hadn't seen in those eyes before.

She'd seen freedom, happiness, excitement.

Want.

But never weakness.

It frightened her more than any whimsical feeling she'd had over the past week. That look scared the shit out of her, so she stole herself and continued; not knowing what else there was to do but talk.

"Britt came over to my place one afternoon with tears in her eyes. I'd never seen her so upset. When I manage to calm her down, she told me she was scared, and then with the sweetest sadness in her eyes she asked me if it would hurt. I had a boyfriend at the time, just some stupid meathead jock, so I knew. I couldn't bear to lie to her, so instead I offered to be her first. It was always something we had together. No matter what happened at that party, or at that dance. No matter who she slept with after that, she would always find comfort in knowing I was her first. And that nobody would be able to take that experience of her first time being special away from her. It brought us closer."

Santana tore her eyes away from Quinn's, suddenly embarrassed for the complete and utter over share.

"_And_ I can't believe I just told you that."

She laughed nervously, playing with the cord of her white headphones. She heard a sharp intake of breath, causing her to look back at her friend.

"Are you crying?"

She could see the wet streaks on her cheeks, before she brushed them away with a quick swipe of her hand. Santana's heart broke at the sight, but she forced her hands to stay by her sides.

"No, I just," Quinn stuttered. "I can't imagine loving someone that much. To the point of taking away their pain so they wouldn't have to feel it."

"Cause of your parents?" she said cautiously.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"One day someone will come along, and you'll wonder why you ever doubted it."

_If they haven't already._

Quinn closed the small gap between them, pressing her lips to Santana's cheek. Her heart slammed into her throat, the soft touch sending shocks down her neck and across her chest. Santana turned into her, bringing their faces mere inches apart.

"What was that for?"

"I don't know," Quinn whispered. "Call it the mountain air, or something."

Without the toss of a coin or a random at a bar, she saw that look, that addictive want.

So without a second thought, Santana pushed forward.

But Quinn pulled back.

"We should really get these bikes back," she said in a rush, eyes darting away. "It's getting late."

"Quinn?"

_Shit._

* * *

><p>The blonde threw the door open and chucked her backpack onto her bed. She began picking up stray clothes and moving them to her rucksack, all the while keeping her back to Santana.<p>

"Quinn?"

No response.

She knelt down and started going through her toiletries, disposing of an empty bottle of moisturizer, before going back to her bag. Her movements were frantic, and not anything like Quinn; the happy go lucky girl that jumped off trains, and tackled freezing cold water rapids.

The girl before her was not that girl.

This one was terrified.

"Would you look at me for a second?"

She hung her head, Santana not thinking she was going to get anything further until she turned on her with sad eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head dismissively as she got to her feet, swiping away more tears that had started to fall.

"We should probably call it a night," she mumbled, pulling back the sheets on her bed. "We have a big day tomorrow, so," she trailed off, not meeting the brunette's eye.

"It's still daylight, Q," Santana pointed out, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window. "Look, I'm sorry if what I said freaked you out, or something. Or if it was something I did."

_Of course it was something I did. Like a jackass I tried to kiss her. After she just finished telling me she didn't have any close friends. After she just finished telling me something I'm sure she's never told anyone else before in her life._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_Why the fuck did I tell her about Brittany?_

_All this on a stupid whim, on something I only assumed I saw. _

_It could have been anything._

_Fucking train, fucking Europe._

_I wish my parents said no. This never would have happened if I stayed in Lima. Stayed in my boring life, with nothing extraordinary, or unexpect-_

…

_Words, objects, sounds._

Nothing.

Santana couldn't think, because at that moment two perfect lips were on hers, and she wasn't waking up.


	6. I: Ten Simple Rules

If those eyes and that smile were a drug; an addictive, damaging drug, than those lips and the feeling of them pulling against her own was the cure. Her thoughts turned to nothing. Her hesitations and her fears disappeared, only leaving behind her pure want, and desire, and her need to be everywhere the other girl was. Those lips had her grabbing at the blonde's singlet and pushing her backwards until the back of her knees hit the corner chair, sending Quinn falling into the soft cushions below.

Slender fingers ran across her jaw line, leaving a fire in their wake and a burning in her lungs from the lack of oxygen. She gripped the arm rests with both hands while Quinn's short nails scratched down her neck and across the top of her chest, angry red marks rising on her tanned skin. She groaned against her mouth, her own nails digging into the upholstery of the antique chair.

She couldn't breathe without taking in a part of Quinn, and she couldn't conjure up a thought that didn't end in an expletive. All she could see was pale eyelids that twitched and clenched with every soft touch her tongue gave to those lips. All she could hear was Quinn panting against her open mouth, and the rush of blood pulsating in her ringing ears. All she could taste was vanilla lip balm, and the salt of her drying tears that streaked down her cheeks and pooled at her lips. And all she could feel was heaven and fire, simultaneously lifting her up and burning her.

The fire clouded all her other senses so all she could do was feel. Feel Quinn's soft tongue as it pushed past her lips. Feel her hands grip the back of her neck and pull her closer. And feel the heat that was starting in her chest and flooding down between her legs.

_Quinn fucking Fabray is kissing me, and she isn't stopping._

_She's not pulling away._

_I'm not waking up._

_Those are her hands running through my hair._

_And that is her breath mixing with mine._

_Holy shit._

Santana nipped at her bottom lip, before pushing her tongue back into her mouth, her hands finding the top of Quinn's thighs as she dropped to her knees in front of her, bringing their eyes level. She pulled into her as far as the chair would allow, moving her fingertips further up her legs and skirting them underneath the hem of her shorts. She could feel the goose bumps rise on the girl's skin under her fingers as she dragged her hands back down.

Santana pulled away from those perfect lips, and was surprised to find shocked, slightly dazed eyes staring back at her. Quinn's hands hovered near Santana's cheeks, barely grazing her flushed skin. Her breath came out in short bursts, and her chest heaved with every scared second that past.

"Oh God," Quinn blurted, swallowing audibly and biting her bottom lip. Her eyes were wide as she sighed heavily, letting her head fall back to rest against the wall behind her. "Shit." She brought both hands up to her mouth, shaking her head back and forth while staring at the ceiling. Those hands muffled her words that fell from her lips in an incoherent rush. She took a deep breath and finally looked back at Santana with confused eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to-oh _fuck_."

Her head hit the wall again as Santana's chest heaved in and out with each ragged breath, trying to understand her friend's sudden shift. She looked down at soft creamy thighs, her hands stilling against the girl's knees. Realization began to dawn on her as she swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat, and her mind began to catch up with her heart. With each breath in, her chest ached, feeling like it was going to close in on itself, and her once flushed skin turned cold.

Quinn kissed her, and now she's regretting it.

_She's regretting it._

"Q, it's okay, I get it," Santana mumbled, not meet her gaze. "Mountain air, and all that."

_Wow, this hurts a lot more than I thought it would._

Santana kept her gaze on her hands, absently running them across smooth skin, not wanting to get up. If she got up, it was over. It meant the girl before her didn't feel the same way. It made it real. So she stayed on her knees, and kept her gaze on her hands. The muscles under her palms twitched, and she heard a sharp intake of breath, her eyes snapping up to Quinn's hesitant ones; the ones that were trained on her lips and not wavering.

"Yeah," Quinn breathed.

As soon as that single word left her lips, they crashed back on to Santana's, firmer and hungrier than before. She slid her fingers through thick hair and pulled her impossibly close, all thoughts of stopping gone with that word. Santana squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the hesitation she was sure to see in the other girl's eyes. Or worse, the want and the need; that would be harder to bear than any fear that would flicker in those hazel eyes.

So she kept them shut, and relied on touch to guide her hands to that angular jaw, and sound to know when she was hitting her mark. She broke away from Quinn to trail down her neck, but her hands were ripped from smooth skin, and her lips kissed air. She snapped her eyes open to find nothing but the swirling burnt orange and tan of the chair's cushions, her hands landing on coarse material.

"Nope," Quinn said in a clipped tone from somewhere behind her. "We can't do this."

The brunette turned on her knees and collapsed against the chair's legs with wide eyes as she watched the girl in front of her look at anything but her. Quinn was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed a few feet from Santana with her fingertips brushing across her flushed lips, her eyes on the ground.

"This isn't meant to happen," she said through a humourless laugh. "We shouldn't do this."

"Yeah, totally," Santana nodded. "This is a completely terrible idea."

_A completely fucked up, only leading to inevitable heartbreak idea._

"I mean," Quinn stammered, finally looking up from the floor. "Three weeks."

"Three weeks."

She understood what that meant; it was the reason she hadn't reached this point already. She knew the impossibility of this relationship working once they left Europe, and it killed her. She knew it the first time she'd laid eyes on the girl. She knew that if she didn't look away from those eyes and that smile, it would be too late to turn back.

And she didn't.

She didn't say no.

She didn't turn away.

_I asked for this._

_I knew after three seconds, and I still said yes._

Santana continued to nod softly to herself as her conscious and logical thought slowly came flooding back. She flicked her gaze to Quinn, those hazel eyes staring back with an intensity that said stopping was the last thing she wanted to do. Santana found the worn carpet either side of her and dug her nails into the rough surface, needing anything to ground her. Quinn brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. She regarded Santana for a moment, letting out a calming breath.

"So, it's obvious there is some kind of mutual attraction between us." All Santana could do was nod and swallow hard against that complete and utter understatement. "So, if this is going to work, if we're going to continue with the rest of this trip, we need to set some boundaries," Quinn said, speaking carefully as she rested her chin on her knees. "Some ground rules."

"Okay," Santana agreed, slightly wary of this arrangement. She crossed her legs and sat up straighter, the cool breeze from the open window sending goose bumps along her bare midriff.

"Number one," Quinn said, holding up a finger. "No staring."

_No eye fucking you._

"Right," Santana nodded absently. "Got it."

Quinn's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide and a blush spreading across her cheeks.

_Wait, did I say that out loud?_

"Number two," she gaped. "No saying things that make me want to rip your clothes off. That includes sexual innuendoes and flirting."

_Yep, definitely out loud._

Santana had to hold in a laugh. This was a side of Quinn she hadn't gotten to see yet. Sitting before her was a flustered and blushing girl; it was a nice change from the confident one that had dragged her through backstreets and sprawling cities for the better part of a week. It was liberating in a way, knowing that she may actually have been feeling at least a fraction of what Santana had these past few days.

_I wonder..._

"Like what?" she asked innocently.

"Huh?"

"Well, I need to know what made you want to get me naked," Santana explained with a smirk. "You know, so I don't say it again."

"Saying things like _eye fucking_ for one."

_Noted._

"Number three, no touching," Quinn listed on her fingers, the darker girl nodding in agreement.

"Four," Santana stated, relaxing her position slightly. "No picking up randoms at bars. I think you can understand the reasoning behind that one."

"Got it, no Swedish men," Quinn quipped. "Number five, no wearing revealing clothing."

"What?"

"Your boobs," she muttered, her cheeks flushing a deeper red. "They're completely distracting."

Santana looked down at her open white shirt that she'd thrown on for the ride back to the hotel, her red bikini top on full display. She looked up through her lashes to find Quinn's eyes trained on her chest.

_Oh, wow. And I thought I had it bad._

"So, what I'm wearing right now is a no?" Santana asked, Quinn licking her lips and nodding in response. "And we're going to keep this up for the rest of the trip?" she clarified while buttoning up her shirt. "Then part as friends?"

Santana knew it was going to be impossible on her part; like she said, it was too late for her. But this wasn't just about her anymore, Quinn felt it too. And if these rules were going to help her get through, then Santana would do her best to heed them, even though it was killing her just sitting a few feet away.

"It's just fourteen days," Quinn shrugged. "How hard could it be?"

* * *

><p>"I think the universe is against us."<p>

"I'll go see reception," Quinn said, dropping her bag and turning for the door. "You wait here, no use in lugging those things up the stairs again."

Santana dumped her own rucksack on the hard carpet, eyeing the double bed in front of her as the taller girl left the room. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, the hard springs whining slightly under her weight.

From one sleepy town to the next, they'd travelled further north to St. Goar, crossing back into Germany. The four-hour bus ride to the riverside town was spent with Quinn's eyes in her journal, and Santana forcing herself not to stare. It had become something she unconsciously did; Quinn would write, and Santana would watch. She would watch every facial expression, and every heavy sigh, almost being able to read her as she wrote. She'd know when she'd write something happy or heartbreaking by the way her face would light up, or her jaw would set in a hard line, taking the fire in her eyes with it. Santana liked to think in those times of happiness maybe, just maybe, she was writing about her.

But she was definitely not watching her as her ears and neck flushed red, and she bit her lip, huddled in her seat with her pen scribbling feverishly. She didn't watch when the corner of her mouth would quirk up every now and again, like she was fighting off a smile. Or when her hair would hang in her eyes and she would use the tip of her pen to flick it out of the way, only for it to fall back down.

She definitely wouldn't sit on her hands just to force herself not to reach out and run her hands through that hair; that hair that was as soft as she thought it would be. Only so she didn't have to watch the muscle in Quinn's neck pulse every time she would turn her head to the side, the pen gliding through that hair to tuck it behind her ear.

Definitely not.

But now she was she was sitting on a not so comfortable bed, faced with the problem of possibly sharing a bed with the girl for a night. And she wasn't sure if it was the small bed and breakfast in the middle of wine country, or the fact that she would be sharing body heat with her, or-

"No dice," Quinn huffed, coming back into the room. "All booked out."

_Fuck._

They both turned nervous eyes to the bed in the middle of the small room, which had a similar decor to the one in Hopfgarten. It had creaking floorboards covered by a thin layer of carpet with a one-seater antique chair in the corner and two bedside tables.

And no couch.

Santana chanced a glance at Quinn from the corner of her eye. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since the kiss, and the consequent set of rules that were meant to make the rest of this trip easier on them both. But in actual fact it was making it torturous. Santana didn't realise just how much she stared at her, or innocently flirted until now. But as those eyes locked on to hers from across the small room, she saw that Quinn was just as hesitant, if not more.

"It's just one night, right?"

* * *

><p>"Whoa, so close."<p>

Santana stifled a giggle, and placed the small cap between her teeth and took aim. She rested her elbows on the bar and leant back for leverage. Taking a deep breath, she launched the purple bottle top into the air, narrowly missing her mark. It hit the wall with a _ding,_ and went scattering behind the bar.

"I thought you'd be good with your mouth."

Santana quirked an eyebrow at the girl, and mouthed _number two_ while unscrewing the top of her next shot. The girl shrugged all nonchalant, and order her next miniature bottle from the barman.

Once they found out nothing could be done about the sleeping arrangements, the girls headed downstairs to the bar, and quickly learned of a tradition that the patrons held in the small town. All over the walls were photos of all sizes with people holding up tiny black and green labelled shots, all grinning drunkenly at the camera. In each picture the occupants were crowded by sometimes hundreds of these empty bottles, all lined up in rows on the bar; one group even having to move to the surrounding tables. The aim of the tradition was to drink the clear shot, then fire the small cap into the hole of a wooden birdhouse that sat on a fridge behind the bar. And if you were successful, you got another shot.

So far the girls were not, having lined up at least a dozen of the bottles with neither of them even getting close. Quinn tipped her next one back and put it with the others on the bar. Placing the cap in her mouth, she fired it at the hole five feet away, clipping the box and sending it flying behind the counter with the others they'd drank over the course of the night.

"I _know_ you're good with yours."

It was Quinn's turn to quirk her eyebrow at her. Santana grinned at her around a mouthful of her Jack and Coke, ignoring her playfully scolding eyes.

"What happened to rule number two?" she asked. The girl took a seat on the stool next to Santana at one of the high round tables that littered the smoky bar. There was only the barman and his wife at the end of the counter, and the odd traveller on the back tables, so the girls had free reign over the bar.

"You break one, I get to as well," she replied, shrugging innocently.

"Isn't that a bit one step forward, two steps back?" Quinn replied, stirring her own drink with her straw, the ice clinking against the glass.

"It's fair, is what it is."

"Nothing about this is fair."

There was that look again, all want and hesitation. It sent a chill down her back, and had her looking back down into her Coke. She was right. Nothing about this was fair. It wasn't fair that they had met four thousand miles away from home, or that there would be four thousand miles between them for the next year. It wasn't fair that she lived in New York, and that Santana was probably destined to stay in Lima for the rest of her life. And it definitely wasn't fair that the universe felt the need to remind her of this every second of every day.

"When life gives you lemons," Quinn jested with a sad smile.

_You throw them back and scream that you didn't asking for fucking lemons._

Santana cleared her throat and passed Quinn her last shot. She smiled as she hopped down off the tall stool, and walked back over to the bar. Twisting the top, she downed its contents and placed the cap between her lips. She hocked it through the air and landed it in the hole with a hollow thud.

"Oh yeah," Quinn hollered, dancing adorably on the spot. She ran back over to Santana with the small bottle the bartender gave her, her arms stretched wide. She got within inches of her, every intention of wrapping Santana up in a celebratory hug, but froze just before she could embrace her. Quinn's bright smiled faltered and she coughed nervously, before taking her seat opposite the brunette, her eyes on her drink.

_I asked for fucking lemonade._

* * *

><p>The wind whipped around her ears as she weaved from side to side, loving and inviting the feeling that came with it; the freeing feeling that cleared her mind of all thought. She gripped the handlebars with both hands and tossed her head back, the ridges in the asphalt under the bicycle's tires vibrating up her arms. After a moment filled with white clouds and blue skies, she set her eyes back on the road and on the blonde in front of her.<p>

Her mind had been in a constant state of panic for the past few hours for more than a few reasons. Reasons that clouded her logical thought and sent her mind reeling; reasons that made the freeing feeling so welcoming.

She had woken up that morning to warm sunlight shining in her eyes, and an even warmer hand covering her own. Small breasts pressed tightly against her back, and a soft nose nuzzled into the nape of her neck. It took a moment for her body to react to the embrace, and for her mind to stop yelling expletives.

She took a deep breath trying to steady her heart that was slamming against her rib cage. This action brought with it everything Quinn; her smell, the feeling of her arm draped over Santana's waist. It heightened everything, her nerve endings becoming hyper aware of every inch of the girl's skin that was touching hers. The small breaths Quinn took tickled the back of her neck as she tried to assess the situation.

The way Santana saw it, she had two options.

Relish the feeling of that body flush against her for a few more minutes, and then carefully roll out of the embrace, saddling the guilt.

Or wait for Quinn to wake up, and freak out.

_Or say fuck it, and just make a move._

_Yeah, didn't think so._

_Fucking lemons._

She went with option one, carefully removing the girl's hand off her own and padding to the bathroom across the small room. Once safely behind the closed door, she made a mental note to add _no sharing a bed_ to the growing list of deal breakers. The feeling got worse when they hit the highway an hour later, Santana seeing their next destination flicking past on street signs every few miles.

Amsterdam.

_Oh shit._

The whole bus ride was spent with Quinn's nose in her journal as usual, and Santana freaking the fuck out. She counted the days in her head and tried to rationalise her fear. Did it really only take them nine days to get to this point? It seemed to fly by. And with Quinn keeping tight lipped about their destinations, she had no time to prepare mentally for what was sure to be an eye opening experience. And it couldn't have come at a worse time with these rules now bearing down on their time in the capital city. But when Quinn told her that they wouldn't be doing "Amsterdam" until the next night, Santana couldn't help the relief that flooded her body.

Once they were checked in around mid afternoon at their hotel just outside of town, they'd caught a taxi into the heart of it. They'd stepped out onto the main shopping strip, people crowding the street, ducking into shops, and restaurants, and bars. Even though it was a busy metropolis, it was still vastly different from Vienna and Munich. Stone high rises were replaced with narrow wooden and brick houses, and canals. Tall trees dotted the cobblestone paths every few yards, casting shadows over the water that was lined with boats and docks. It was very peaceful, and nothing like she expected.

They quickly learned the best way to see the city was to ride it, renting bicycles and exploring without purpose or direction, in true Quinn style. They lost themselves in the beauty of Amsterdam. They rode through parks, and quant streets filled with beautiful flowers and tall houses that lined the curb, all touching and on slight leans. Museums and street art met them at every corner. And forever bikes; thousands of them weaved in and out of each other, dominating the roadways.

Quinn pulled over and parked her bike in one of the racks as they came to a stop outside a park with a fountain and a giant sculpture, people crowding it and taking photos. Santana walked up beside her and admired the _I Am Amsterdam_ sign that stretched across the length of the park.

"Go sit in the D," Quinn smile, gesturing to the large white letter that was tall and wide enough for someone to sit inside its curve. "I'll snap you a new profile pic."

"I've got a better idea."

Santana waved her over, taking her camera out of her hand and walking up to an elderly couple that was standing just in front of the sculpture. She handed over the camera, pointing to the red M with a smile, the white haired man nodding in understanding. The two girls crouched in their separate arches with their backs resting against the smooth surface. They leant on the middle support, facing away from each other; Santana instructing Quinn not to look at the camera as the flash went off.

"Do you want a close-up?" the man asked in a thick Scottish accent.

Santana couldn't see Quinn's response, but nodded anyway, the short man walking up closer so the frame was just of the M, and not of the surrounding letters. Santana looked out to the side, a city tram rattling past on its metal track as she waited for him to take the photo.

"Ready?"

Her head snapped to Quinn standing next to her, a genuine smile on her face as she nodded toward the bike racks. The man and his wife had begun walking away toward the fountain, their backs to the girls. Both of Quinn's hands were stuffed into the pockets of her baby blue Vienna hoodie, the camera nowhere in sight.

"Where's the photo?" Santana asked, wanting to see how it turned out.

"It sucked," she shrugged dismissively. "It was all blurry."

She turned to start walking back to the street, and back toward their bikes. Without thinking, Santana jogged after Quinn and wrapped her arms around her from behind, lifting her a few inches off the ground. The girl squealed and tried to squirm out of her grasp without much success.

"Stop touching me," Quinn laughed. "Assault!"

"Hand it over!"

"Rule breaker!"

"You didn't follow the one about the sunglasses," Santana panted, letting her grip loose. Quinn landed on her feet, only to turn around and regard the girl with disbelief.

"You can't be serious?"

"Hey, if I have to cover my boobs, you have to cover your eyes," Santana retorted. "Now hand it over."

"Fine," she huffed, pulling the small silver object from her jean pocket. "And I clearly remember expunging that rule from our list."

Santana just nodded her head with an eye roll, practically snatching the camera from her friend's outstretched hand. She clicked it on, her smile faltering when she saw the photo flash up on the screen. She looked back at Quinn who was biting her lip and looking at her Chucks, scuffing them against the concrete path.

"I didn't know he was about to take the photo," she shrugged, not meeting her gaze.

Santana looked back down at the close-up of the two girls. Santana was looking out of frame with a small grin on her face, her eyes distant. But the blonde had her head turned inward, eyes facing in the direction of the brunette, her head tilted and resting on the red arch. Santana placed her fingers on the touch screen and dragged to zoom in on Quinn's face. The look that crossed over her eyes and her features confused Santana; it was that look of hesitant longing that was becoming more frequent as the days wore on. Her chest practically exploded with warmth at the implications behind the candid, but she didn't get a chance to look any closer when it was ripped from her hands.

"That's enough."

"Hey-"

"It's no big deal," she mumbled, stuffing it back in her pocket. "We should probably leave now if we want to see Anne Frank's house before it closes."

_Stupid. Fucking. Lemons._

* * *

><p>"This is so wrong, on so many levels."<p>

"Don't act like you've never watched porn before."

"Not live," Santana hissed. "And would you stop looking at me."

"Why?" Quinn taunted, her eyes shining in the dim light. "Is it making you uncomfortable?"

_Among other things._

The girls sat in the dark crowded theatre, three rows from the back exit. Groups of drunken Americans and excited Japanese tourists filled most of the seats, with a large Australian tour occupying the balcony above them. There was awkward chatter teetering over the audience as a hulking black guy in camo suspenders and assless chaps took a petit blonde on stage.

_What the fuck am I doing here?_

Santana was completely blindsided with their first stop in the Red Light District. They'd walked past endless sex shops, and bars, and coffee shops, the strong smell of weed wafting out of each as they past. It was still daylight out when they entered a building with a large neon pink elephant out front, the sign reading _Theatre Casa Russo_. She followed Quinn into the ticket holders' line, breezing straight to the front as dozens of people crowded the street. It was too late to turn back when she spotted the suggestive posters that hung on the blacked out glass windows on each side of the entrance; Quinn putting her hands on the velvet ropes and practically forcing her inside.

Santana knew it was one of those things you did when you came to Amsterdam; see a live sex show. But what people neglect to mention is how awkward, and mortifying, and all round cringe worthy they actually were. She spent most of the time shielding her eyes, and trying to ignore the man sitting next to her who was staring at her with a hungry glint in his eyes.

"What kind of person voluntarily goes to one of these things?" Santana whispered to Quinn, who was sitting on the aisle seat, a bartender brushing past her while he took the patrons orders.

"You."

"You're hilarious," Santana deadpanned, chancing a glance at the stage and instantly regretting it.

_I didn't think legs could do that._

"I booked it before I left London," Quinn shrugged. "It was on my bucket list."

Santana looked cautiously back toward the stage just as the man was helping the girl to her feet. The couple moved off behind the curtain, a woman who looked like she was in her late thirties sauntering on stage, wearing clear plastic platforms and a silver bikini. She danced jerkily to the techno music pumping out of the speakers, before she began to untie the back string of her top.

_For the love of God, please keep that on._

"Can we go?"

"But we'll miss the banana-"

"Oh, hell no."

_No fucking way._

Santana shot up in her seat and practically hopped over Quinn's legs on her rush to the exit. She smiled as politely as she could to the doorman, not bothering to check if her friend was following. She broke through the crowd and into the now cool night air, hugging her leather jacket around herself and waiting for Quinn to appear before storming off down the cobblestone street. Her thick-soled boots clicked heavily against the stone, the blonde following her as she lost herself further into the maze of back alleys and tight turns.

Santana merged onto a narrow street, neon pink lights glowing and reflecting off the glass that lined both sides of the walkway. She stared wide eyed as scantily clad girls of all shapes and sizes waved seductively at her from behind their individual windows. There were guys crowding them every few feet, making no attempt at being subtle in their ogling of the girls. A door opened at the end of the street, and balding man walked out with a satisfied smirk, disappearing into the crowd.

"You shouldn't walk off like that," Quinn said, coming up behind her. "This place can be pretty dangerous sometimes."

"And whose fault is that?" Santana retorted.

"Still," Quinn shrugged. "You shouldn't walk off. I scare to think what I'd do if I lost you."

Santana met her gaze, a pink glow tinting her features from the nearby light. They were filled with concern, and it made the ache in her chest flare worse than ever. Her previous irritation at the girl faded when she looked into those eyes.

_Number seven, no saying things that make me want to rip my heart out._

"Come on," Santana mumbled, turning around and heading back the way she came. "I think I saw a sex shop that sold suggestive t-shirts a few blocks back."

* * *

><p>She inhaled deeply, the heavy smoke filling her lungs and clearing her mind. Her cares floated away, and her thoughts turned to nothing. It was as freeing as a bike ride through quiet streets, or lying back on her trampoline with Brittany, staring at the clouds, or naming the consolations. She missed having her to talk to; she hadn't got a chance to do more than message her since she landed. She knew if she just heard her voice, no matter what she would say, it would be as calming as the drug that was now pumping through her bloodstream.<p>

She held the roughly rolled object in between her forefinger and thumb, the familiar feel of the dry paper bringing back memories of when her best friend wasn't around to ease the pain of adolescents. Or more specifically, the pain that came with having non-existent parents. She would lock herself in her room and shut out the world, and just be. It was the up side of having no supervision and an older brother in college. She would lose track of how long she would lie there on her bed staring at the ceiling, trying to count how long it had been since she'd heard her mother's laugh, or felt her father's embrace. In retrospect, those thoughts weren't exactly the healthiest to have while she was intoxicated. It only fuelled the dying fire that burned between her and her parents.

Santana brought the joint to her lips and took in a generous drag, before exhaling slowly. She watched the white smoke billow and curl in the air before her, merging with the haze that gathered on the ceiling.

"Have you ever done a shotgun before?"

She turned her eyes to Quinn lounging next to her on the soft red couch. Once the wiry man behind the store counter bagged Brittany's "Go Green" t-shirt, they'd wandered into the first coffee shop they'd past. It was a quaint little establishment with a low set ceiling, and squashy beanbags and sofas lining the walls. There was a tiny bar in the corner with half a dozen people scattered around the dimly lit room, all with blissed-out expressions.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, it's when you blow smoke-"

"I know what it is," Santana interrupted with small smile. "Just, why are asking me?"

Santana wasn't always alone when she would shut out the world. She'd had a strewn of stoner ex-boyfriends that she would hole up in her room with. But never Brittany. She would never let the bubbly blonde near the stuff. She knew it was very hypocritical of her, but she stood by it, having no qualms with kicking guys in the nads whenever they'd offer it to her at parties, or behind the bleachers after football games. So it was safe to say she was no stranger to shotgunning, and how intimate an act it could be. So when Quinn asked, her heart skipped a beat. She knew this was a bad idea. She knew how close she would have to get to her. And she hated how badly she wanted it.

"Well, I've always wanted to try it."

Santana sat up straighter, her mind trying to break through the thin veil the weed was beginning to hold over her senses. Quinn was looking at her with those perfect almond eyes she couldn't resist, or deny. The girl edged closer to her on the couch and smiled suggestively. Santana was a little more than hesitant to give her what she was asking as she knew Quinn wasn't smoking; sticking strictly to the chocolate alternative.

"I think that would be breaking at least three of your little rules, Q," she deflected, hoping vainly that she'd drop it, but knowing it was a lost cause.

"I'm not going to let our little arrangement get in the way of crossing it off my bucket list," Quinn stated simply, before setting her eyes on the bartender in front of them. "And if you don't, that guy over there has been checking me out the whole night. You think he'd be up for it?"

Santana shifted her gaze to the tall man behind the bar. He was currently wiping down the counter with a wet dishtowel, and glancing up every now and again in their direction. Santana was brought back to Munich, and the red-hot anger she felt when Erik had his imperfect hands all over Quinn. She wouldn't go through that again, especially now that she was given an ultimatum. She shifted her gaze between her friend and the dark-haired man that was now serving a customer.

"You wouldn't."

"Either you break rule number three, or I break rule number four."

_You are so cruel._

"Fine," she digressed, a knot instantly forming in her stomach.

She grabbed her joint from where she'd let it die on the ashtray, and brought it up to her lips, igniting the tip with a lighter. It smouldered and emitted thin tendrils as she breathed in slowly, taking in a mouthful of the heady smoke. She leaned in closer to Quinn, who was waiting with careful eyes and parted lips. Placing her fingers underneath her chin and sliding them across soft skin, she coaxed the girl's mouth wider. She felt the goose bumps rise against her fingertips as she closed the distance between them and exhaled slowly into Quinn's mouth. Her lips brushed soft pink ones as white smoke floated between their open mouths, the blonde breathing in deeply and sending hot heat between Santana's legs.

Quinn's eyes slid shut, and her lips quirked with the hint of a smile, before exhaling coolly. Santana sat back on the couch and watched those eyes pull up to her, the fiery green orbs dancing in the limited light the surrounding lanterns gave off.

_Whoa._

"That was kind of hot," Santana murmured with her eyes on her hands, her fingers toying with a spare paper.

"Rule number two."

"That wasn't flirting," Santana exclaimed, looking back at the girl next to her. "It was a statement of fact."

"I meant the ripping your clothes off part."

_Oh._

* * *

><p>The smooth leather was cool against her heated skin. She ran the palms of her hands across the small ridges and wrinkles of the material, her head falling back against the headrest. She took deep breaths in and out, her mind drowning in of sea of haze. She tried to concentrate on something, anything. The day of the week. Where she was. But every time she came close to an answer it would swim away, just out of her reach. She gazed lazily out the car window, the dark night sky flashing by, blur after blur. Colours swirled, lights merged, Santana breathed.<p>

In and out.

_In and out._

She rolled her head to the other side of the taxi. Blonde and hazel rested against the seat just a foot away from her, perfect pale hands gliding through the air. Those soft pink lips pulled back in an effortless, wondrous smile while those eyes watched her fingers pull against the wind. The cold breeze from the open window whipped her short hair around her angular face as those fingers cut through the air, soaring and dipping.

Up and down

_Up and down._

The girl retracted her arm and wound the window back up, giggling to herself before turning playful eyes on Santana. She bit her lip, edging closer to her on the backseat of the cab as it sped through the streets of Amsterdam. Santana blinked slowly, grinning at the girl as she came within a few inches of her face.

"Close your eyes," Quinn breathed, turning her body towards Santana and resting her head on the leather.

"Why?"

Her voice sounded so foreign and so far away, she could almost see the word leave her mouth and hang in the air in front of her. Santana watched through hooded eyes as the girl let out a sigh, stirring the thick air that had settled between them.

"Just close them."

It was a simple command, one her clouded mind could understand. So her eyes slid shut, and she was thrust into darkness.

Except she wasn't.

Colours of every spectrum swirled behind her lids. Shapes and images came and went. But it was never dark. She could see the light from the streets trying to break through her eyelids, pulsing like a strobe, one after the other.

_Dark._

_Light._

_Dark._

_Light._

She felt a wall of heat before her, like she'd just walked past a lit furnace. It moved ever so slightly from left to right, like a spotlight across the water. She felt warm breath hit her cheek, sending a chill across her skin that reached her chest and radiated out to her hands.

"What are doing?"

She kept her eyes shut as she whispered into the darkness, the non-existent, colourful darkness. She wanted to move. Move forward, move her hands. Find purchase on anything that would ground her, bring her back down and stop her from floating away. But that delicious heat was so close she was afraid that if she did, it would fade and take the wonderful darkness with it.

"I'm not doing anything."

There was that heat, close and inviting. She unconsciously leant towards it, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel it warm her face. She heard a sharp intake of breath and then a slow exhale, the brunette not sure if it was Quinn's, or her own.

"I'm not touching you."

There it was on her neck, tickling her skin and causing her to shiver. The shiver died at the end of her back, her clouded mind concentrating on that feeling as the heat moved lower to her collarbone. She felt a small puff of warm air her the sensitive skin. It brushed outward, and she breathed it in. That one was definitely Quinn.

"I'm not staring at you."

She could see shadows behind her lids whenever the girl crossed in front of her, blocking out the light from the street lamps. Or maybe that was just the car going through a tunnel, or just a trick of the mind. Either way it sent her reeling, like she was weaving through traffic. Her mind would conjure up a thought or an image, and then it would dodge away when she felt the heat brush against a different part of her body.

"I'm not doing anything."

It would be so easy just to open her eyes, clear the haze. But that feeling of heat and of Quinn was so intoxicating it kept them closed. It kept her in the darkness where she could imagine the girl before her, with her perfect smile and her perfect eyes watching her closely. But never staring.

"Hold up your hand," Quinn's voice instructed softly, distant and calming.

Santana didn't need to be asked twice, moving her hand to hover in the air with her palm outstretched. She breathed in deeply, steadying her heart and willing her hand to still. She waited a few moments before the ghost of a touch brushed across her palm and the pads of her fingertips. It tickled across her skin, warmth radiating before her hand that sparked her nerve endings, and sent her head swimming again. It was the most amazing feeling. It sent tingles up her arm and across her chest. It felt like a faded current was being held a hairs width from her hand.

It was indescribable.

"Now open them."

Her eyes found hazel, and then pale skin held up against tanned. Quinn's hand hovered before her, suspended in the air beside her own. But never touching. They're fingers moved in sync with each other. Quinn would move one back, and Santana would move one forward, like gravity, pushing and pulling, but never connecting.

_How can you be so close, yet so far away?_

"Why does this feel so good?"

She watched their hands closely, using it as a focal point in an attempt to break through the haze. Even though they never touched, they fit perfectly against each other. Every dip and every curve melded together.

But never touching.

"Because you're high," she breathed.

_Or maybe because I love you..._

* * *

><p><strong>The Ten Simple Rules.<strong>

**1. No staring**

**2. No flirting, or sexual innuendos**

**3. No touching**

**4. No hooking up with other people**

**5. No wearing revealing clothing**

**6. No sharing a bed**

**7. No confessions concerning the other**

**8. **

**9. **

**10. **

**You'll find out the others as the girls do.**


	7. I: From A Whisper To A Scream

Her lids were heavy, stinging with each attempt she made at opening her eyes more than halfway. The bright light streaming through the window forced Santana to shut them, wincing when it sent a throbbing just behind her eyes. Her whole body felt like deadweight, and her muscles ached when she lifted her arm to shield herself from the invasive sunlight. She swallowed dryly, memories from the previous night coming back to her in flashes just behind her closed lids.

The crowded, dimly lit theatre.

_Quinn staring at me._

The neon pink street, and the scantily clad girls.

_Quinn chasing after me._

The quaint coffee shop, and the small red couch.

_Quinn._

_Her lips._

_Her eyes._

_Mere inches from me._

But all of this was surrounded by a thick haze that blurred certain details, and made her question the validity of some of the memories. One thing she did recall was the feeling of warmth and electricity, then rushing air and flashing lights. This memory confused her as it came with no image, just an intense but distant feeling. The more she dwelled on it, the more the throbbing behind her eyes intensify.

_What the hell did I smoke last night?_

Grabbing a pillow, she rolled over in protest, but collided with something solid and entirely too warm. She blindly reached out a hand and ran it across smooth skin, eliciting a faint sigh from above her. Santana blinked the sleep out of her eyes and set her gaze upon soft thighs, and long legs crossed at the ankles. Retracting her wandering hand, she trailed up to tiny bed shorts that left little to the imagination, then to a pair sparkling hazel eyes.

_I could get use to this._

"Rise and shine, roomie," Quinn chirped from her spot on Santana's bed, her back resting against the headboard. She cradled a steaming mug in her hand as she smiled down at the bleary brunette.

"Forgot you're a morning person," Santana groaned, stretching and landing back on the soft mattress with a dull thud. "Hold up, were you watching me sleep?"

"Of course not," she blurted, before dropping her eyes and clearing her throat. "Umm, if by watching, you mean prodding you every few minutes to make sure you were still alive, then yes," she amended nervously, bringing the cup to her lips. "Coffee?"

"No thanks, the smell churns my stomach," Santana replied, brushing off the girl's strange response. She rolled over, tucking the pillow under her chin and looking up at her before continuing. "It actually reminds me of my father," she murmured, her voice muffled by her pillow. The girl shot her a confused look, but her brow softened after a moment in understanding.

It wasn't a big deal, and the smell didn't repulse her by any means. It was just an association she kept close to her dad. One of him late at night in his office with the door closed, going over doctor's reports and charts, cup after cup. She remembers edging the big oak door open when she was little and asking him to read to her, or come tuck her in. But she was always met with the same rejection, the same 'in a minute' or 'get your mother to'. In the end it was always Joseph, her older brother, who got the job of kissing her goodnight, because even her own mother couldn't spare a few minutes from her social climbing club of housewives to pay her any time.

So for Santana, it was coffee and the sickly sweet smell of her mother's perfume that brought back memories of her childhood.

Now that _was_ a smell that repulsed her.

"It's the same with me and Scotch," Quinn said, breaking Santana out of her reverie. She gave an empathetic shrug and took another sip, before placing the cup on the bedside table and away from Santana. Quinn's eyes became distant, her fingers playing with the drawstring on her shorts. Santana watched her for a moment, trying to read the almost wistful expression on her features; she could practically see the gears turning.

"Whatcha thinking?" Santana mumbled, not being able to help her curiosity.

"What do you remember?" she edged cautiously, not meeting her gaze. She could tell by the look on her face and her tone that she was referring to the previous night's events.

"I remember the coffee shop."

_I remember those soft pink lips being so close to mine._

_I remember doing something I'd refused to do with most of my exes._

_And I remember you enjoying it._

Santana watched her bite her lip and nod shyly, still not meeting her gaze. Her cheeks flushed as her fingers continued to absently tie her drawstring together, and then release.

"But after that it's a blur. I remember flashing lights and heat, then it's all black," she finished after a moment. "Why?"

That scared flicker reached her distant eyes, and disappeared almost as quickly. Santana hadn't seen it since the Bavarian restaurant in Munich, and she didn't know what it meant.

_Am I missing something?_

"No reason," Quinn dismissed, finally meeting her eye with a nervous, guarded smile. "I'm just glad _one_ of us remembers something."

_Did I say something after I blacked out?_

"You should, umm, get up," Quinn stuttered, before shuffling off the bed. "You can sleep on the train."

_Okay, I definitely did something._

She padded across to the small bathroom and closed the door securely behind her, Santana's eyes trailing after her perfect form. She heard the swish of a curtain and then the unmistakable turning of taps, followed by running water. The calming sound sent her train of thought swimming into very dangerous territory. Most of which put her on the other side of that door. She groaned at the mental image, rolling over once again and burying her head underneath her pillow, shutting out the world for a few more minutes.

* * *

><p>She stood in a pool of shattered blue and white light, watching as it glinted off her tanned skin and swam over the dusty stone floors. She could hear sombre hymns reverberating off the high walls and ceiling, and filling the monstrous cathedral. Thousands of candles shone orange light all over the walls, creating and erasing shadows with every flicker. Tourists brushed passed her as she stared up at the circular stained glass window, trying to make out the story it told.<p>

"How much better is this compared to St. Marks?"

"You only like this one better because it has free entry."

"That's not entirely untrue," Quinn giggled, wandering off around the wide bend, and leaving Santana to continue to admire the window.

The girls had arrived in Paris the day before, checking into their hotel and calling an early night. It turned out that Santana didn't get much in the way of sleep on the four-hour train ride, so the early night was welcomed with open arms. She'd spent the duration trying her best to concentrate on the Sudoku puzzles she'd picked up at the station before departing, and the soothing melodies coming from her iTunes. However every few minutes she'd feel those eyes watching her carefully, but when she'd turn to meet them, Quinn would swiftly look back down to her journal, a nervous flush to her cheeks. Every look she gave held a certain weight about it, like she wasn't looking _at_ her, but rather searching for something. And she couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with her dismissive behaviour earlier that day.

_Seriously, what did I do?_

They travelled to the heart of the famous city the following morning, and quickly fell in love with the tastes and smells, and the people and architecture of Paris; it was a city you could lose yourself in for weeks and still not see its entirety. There were street performers and patisseries on every corner, and famous sights at every turn. No matter which street they took, or bridge they crossed they would pass a picturesque view, or building that was better fitted for a post card.

By midmorning they'd ventured inside the famous Notre Dame Cathedral, a long line of tourists stretching through the paved square out the front. It was like the rest of Paris, old and dark, but beautiful beyond compare. A part of Santana wished she didn't have to share this with thousands of other tourists. She wished it were just her and Quinn; taking hours to explore every level and crevice of the amazing church. She wasn't overly religious, much to the disappointment of her mother, but there was something about this place that just felt peaceful to her.

Santana caught up to Quinn after a few minutes, finding her slowly making her way past the confessionals. She paused in front of them with that wistful look in her eyes, but quickly composed herself when she noticed Santana coming up beside her.

"Anything you need to get off your chest?" Quinn asked, motioning towards one of the booths.

"Nothing I want to be forgiven for," she replied honestly. "You?"

"How much time do you have?" she deadpanned, before skipping away. "Come on, I'm starving."

_There is something you're not telling me._

* * *

><p>"I don't know how things fly in The Big Apple, but in Ohio we don't eat insects."<p>

"They're not insects," Quinn stated. "And what happen to not judging things?"

"Oh, I'm all for trying new things, but I draw the line when I've dissected them in high school."

The girls sat opposite each other at a quaint restaurant they'd come across down a narrow side street. As soon as they'd sat down, Quinn insisted they try traditional French cuisine as entrées, much to Santana's disgust. The waiter came out a few minutes after they'd ordered with two plates, one on each arm. He placed them delicately in front of the girls, and Santana had to do her best not to dry heave at the table.

"I think I just lost my appetite."

Quinn picked up the small shell with the metal tongs and spiked it with a miniature fork, pulling out a slimy black ball covered in what looked like grass clippings. Santana's stomach churned at the sight, and had her going for her glass of white wine. She'd swallowed down a large mouthful, when playful eyes turned on her with a grin.

"We're not leaving Paris until you've at least tried this," Quinn said, holding up the fork and flipping the handle around so Santana could grab it.

"No way."

"Yes way."

She thrust the metal into Santana's hand and pushed the plate of snails closer to her. They swivelled on their tray as she swallowed back the urge to be sick. Eyeing the fork, she shifted her gaze to Quinn who was looking at her with that smile and those eyes.

_You are so not allowed to look at me like that right now._

"You left this city before without trying any of this stuff, so we're not leaving this table until you do."

_Fuck._

"Fine, but you're on your own with those," Santana digressed, pointing towards the other plate.

"Fine," she grinned, before picking up one of the frogs legs, making Santana squirm uncomfortably in her seat. "But eat quickly, we have to be back at the hotel soon."

"Why's that?" she asked, slightly distracted with the fork that was now in her hand.

"Oh, just something on the long list of things I neglect to tell you."

_Of course it is._

* * *

><p>"How do I know what to wear, if you won't tell me where we're going?"<p>

Quinn popped her head out of the bathroom, drawing Santana's attention away from her wardrobe that was currently strewn across her double bed. Wet strands of the girl's hair hung low in her eyes and dripped small droplets of water on the hotel's white fluffy bathrobe she was wearing.

_There has to be some kind of rule against that._

"Just dress up," she smiled, before disappearing again.

"Not even a hint?" Santana called over the low hum of the hairdryer, before turning back to the bed and to her limited selection of dresses.

"Let's just say we're going to dinner and a show."

"A show?"

The hairdryer clicked off and she reappeared, leaning against the doorjamb. She sauntered over to Santana's bed and grabbed her only black dress, thrusting it into her unsuspecting hands.

"I would promise no nudity, but I would be lying."

"Q."

"You're just going to have to trust me," she teased back.

_Trust you?_

"Like that's going to happen," Santana mumbled under her breath, turning her back to the girl and holding the dress up against her.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Quinn retorted, standing up straighter and crossing her arms across her chest. Santana watched her carefully in the mirror's reflection for a moment, before hanging her shoulders and spinning around to take a seat amongst her clothes.

"I just, I think you remember a little more than you're letting on," she prompted in a small voice. Quinn shot her a questioning look, her arms still folded. "Did I say, or do something the other night?"

"Why would you ask that?" she laughed nervously, not meeting her gaze. She leant her back up against the doorframe and faced away from Santana's imploring eyes.

"Because you've been," Santana began, motioning towards her stance at a complete loss for words. "Ever since that night, there has to be a reason."

Quinn let out a strangled sigh and wandered over to her bed, sinking down with a dull thud. She gripped the edge of the mattress firmly with both hands, steadying herself. "That night when we got back to the hotel," she breathed, looking intently at her hands. "You, um, you told me you were in love with me."

_I did what now?_

"I was helping you to bed, and just as I was pulling the covers over you," she continued to explain. "You whispered that you loved me."

_Oh my God._

_And then like a jackass I proceeded to tell you that I blacked out._

Santana didn't know where to look, or how to even begin to explain what she had said. Her heart was going a mile a minute as she tried to think of an excuse that wouldn't freak the girl out even further.

"You were tucking me in, I probably thought you were my dad, or something," she said in a rush as she busied herself with picking out a matching pair of shoes. She knew she was grasping at straws, but she was stuck between a rock and very hard place. "It's no big deal."

"You said I love you, Quinn."

_Okay, that's a little harder to explain away._

"Look-"

"How about we just pretend it never happened, okay?" Quinn suggested, getting up from the bed. "Like I've been _trying_ to for the past few days."

"Q?"

"I'm just going to finish drying my hair."

_Shit._

* * *

><p>The room was a flurry of sequins and feathers. Men in tight spandex, and women in brightly coloured thongs and stilettos, danced across the stage in front of the sold out crowd. There were acrobatics and juggling acts, contortionists and of course the world famous Can-Can. It was an ambush on the senses, and Santana did her best to take it all in. But she could have been back in the dark theatre in Amsterdam rather than at the <em>Moulin Rouge<em> for what good it did her. She couldn't take her eyes off Quinn, or her mind off what she was told she'd said.

She'd know since that first day in Venice that having that experience with her would only lead to her having no control. It had always been a problem for Santana; anytime she would get drunk or high, the truth would come out. And it wasn't like what she'd said wasn't anything but the truth. She just didn't intend on telling her in that way, or even telling her at all.

_And also, why was she so upset that I did say it?_

_Does she not feel the same way, or-_

_She must think-_

_Christ, I don't even know what to think anymore._

She forced her eyes forward, and away from Quinn. She took deep breaths as she pushed a piece chicken around her plate in front of her. She saw the other girl turn toward her out of the corner of her eye, causing her to drop her fork to the table with masked thud. Quinn's lips quirked up with the hint of a smile, before turning to face the stage once more.

_I could scream it from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and it still wouldn't make a damn bit of difference._

_Fucking lemons._

* * *

><p>She stumbled down the carpeted hall, her bare feet dragging against the coarse material. The long hallway was giving Santana vertigo as she clung to the warmth that was flush against her side. Her arm was tightly wrapped around Quinn's pale neck, her nose nuzzling against soft skin. They reached one of the many doors in the deserted hall that seemed to stretch on for miles in both directions, hands thrusting Santana against the wall while they busied themselves with the key card. It beeped, and she was pulled into the room by her arm, the door slamming behind her.<p>

Her back hit the soft mattress moments later, and she let out a sigh as she spread her arms out over the comforter. The cool white sheets were heaven against her heated skin, and she found herself spreading out further, seeking more contact. Those hands pulled her to the side, freeing the sheets from underneath her body, before they pulled them up around her. Santana ran her fingertips lightly across those hands, and down those wrists and back up, before intertwining her fingers with long pale ones. She looked up into those wary eyes that stared back at her as their owner hovered above her.

"I love you, Quinn," she breathed with a lazy smile.

She dropped her eyes to the tips of her fingers as she ran them along the back of her hands, loving the smooth feeling and the slight goose bumps it caused up the girl's arms. When she flicked her gaze back up to the blonde, her lips were parted, and her eyes were nervous and slightly dilated. Quinn leant down and placed a soft kiss to her lips, before pulling back.

"I love you, too," she whispered. "Now wake up."

And suddenly she was being shaken by those same hands, except when she opened her eyes she was looking into bright hazel with no trace of hesitation. They were alert and excited as they hovered over her, crinkled in the corners from the girl grinning at her from above.

"Wake up," Quinn smiled from above her. "I've got a surprise for you."

"Isn't everything we do a surprise?" Santana groaned, pulling the pillow back over her face, and blocking out the cheerful girl and her perfect smile that never failed to send her heart into a panic.

"Get up, shut up, and get dressed."

_No one should be this happy until at least five in the afternoon._

Hands gripped the pillow and ripped it from her face. Quinn threw it across the room, leaving Santana no discernable way of retrieving it. She sat up and death stared the girl who was currently shoving things into her rucksack, and completely ignoring the brunette's irritation.

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied stubbornly, flopping back onto the bed.

"Fine," Quinn huffed, before dropping a slip of thick paper on her stomach.

Santana sat back up and eyed the card, before switching her gaze to Quinn. The girl was feigning innocence, humming to herself while she folded her clothes. Santana looked back down at what she now saw was a plane ticket. She picked it up with slight confusion as she read the printed scripted written across the top of the card, her eyes going wide.

"Barcelona?" Santana exclaimed in shock. Quinn merely nodded in response and skipped over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But we just got here."

"Do you want to go, or not?"

_Is the Pope Catholic?_

* * *

><p>She brought the straw to her lips, sucking down the bright red liquid with vigour. Quinn watched her from across the small circular table, a smile on her lips and her head resting on her palm. Santana let the straw drop back in her glass, the ice clinking against the sides.<p>

"This is so good," she gushed.

"And I didn't even have to force you to try it."

"Shut up," Santana retorted.

Ever since the plane landed it was like the two girls were transported. Not just in the physical sense, but mentally and emotionally too. Call it the Sangria, or the Latin music pumping out of the bar's speakers, but everything just felt more relaxed and freeing. The warm breeze from the open balcony window touched Santana's skin, and had her breathing a content sigh.

_God, I love Barcelona._

_I love their food and drink._

_And I love-_

_Well, I love a lot of things here._

_Some of them blonde, and sexy, and staring at me._

"Number one," Santana sing-songed as she fiddled with the straw.

"I'm just going to go ahead and expunge that one from our list. It's impossible to hold either of us to it," Quinn stated simply. "Plus, I made that one up when you had just had your tongue down my throat, I wasn't thinking clearly."

Santana had to bite her lip to stop the whimper that was threating to escape. She turned her head to looked out at the night sky, trying her best to ignore the throbbing between her legs the girl's words had just caused. She could hear celebrations from the street below, and laughter from the surrounding restaurants and bars. The city was so alive after the sun went down, and even though she had only been here for a few hours, she got the vibe that every night was a party for them.

Santana fanned herself uselessly, the humid air causing her singlet to stick to her back, and for a light sheen of sweat to coat her neck. It was impossible to escape, or wear anything that really resembled appropriate clothing.

_So much for number five too._

A supermodel of a bartender came over to them a moment later with a bright smile and collected their empty glasses, before going back to the bar. He pulled out a dishtowel and began cleaning shot glasses from the rack behind the counter top.

"He's cute," Quinn stated innocently.

"Don't start."

"Come on, let's go," she laughed, hopping down of her stool and heading for the stairs.

They hit the crowded street and continued up the main strip of Barcelona. Family and friends were just starting to have their dinner, even though it was getting late by the girls' standards. But people seemed to do things differently here. Their style was colourful and vibrant, their conversations louder, and their nights longer.

They had made their way down three blocks when she felt it, Santana smelling the first drop before it fell. But once the second and third hit the pavement it was a full blown down pour. She squealed and ran for cover against the sudden shower, taking shelter under a bus stop. She turned round to see if Quinn was following her lead when she saw her standing in the middle of the street and looking up at the sky. She looked so at peace, and the most beautiful smile was on her lips as she closed her eyes against the rain. The girl opened her mouth and let the water droplets hit her tongue, and soak her-

_White shirt._

_Okay._

Santana's cheeks flushed red as Quinn turned those eyes onto her and beckoned her forward. She only hesitated a moment before running out to join her friend. The rain was cool against her heated skin, and her singlet and denim shorts were wet through in seconds. Quinn grabbed onto her hand, slick with rainwater, and spun her round on the spot.

_Can we just stay in this moment forever?_

_Just stop time, and stay like this._

She pulled her hands through her damp hair, and brushed her fringe out of her eyes. She looked around to see that they gained a few on-lookers from the surrounding restaurants, most of them shaking they're heads with grins on their faces.

"Number eight."

"Huh?" Santana hummed.

"Number eight," Quinn repeated, pointing to the brunette's chest.

Santana looked down to see-

_Oh, hello._

Quinn giggled nervously, before diverting her gaze away from Santana's now see-through top, and wandered ahead further up the damp street.

* * *

><p>She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her mascara was slightly smudged, and loose bits of her hair we're coming out of her high ponytail. She looked a mess, but she couldn't help the giddy smile that stretch across her lips. After all that had happened over the past few days, tonight was the first night she felt like she could breathe again. It felt like she was back in Vienna at the amusement park, or back in the bar in Hopfgarten. She felt liberated and free, and she had no idea why.<p>

Nothing had changed.

The rules were still in place. They were still set to say goodbye to each other in a week's time. Maybe it was because for the first time since they kissed she saw Quinn finally let go again. The terrified light had gone out in her eyes, and she looked like the Quinn from Venice that first day, carefree and full of life. She didn't know what prompted the change, nor did she care to argue it.

She heard the sound of voices from behind the closed bathroom door, dragging her attention away from her reflection. She shrugged after a beat, figuring it was Quinn switching on the TV in the living room and grabbed a tissue to start wiping away the mascara from under her eyes. She came out of the bathroom a few minutes later to find Quinn sitting on the edge of her bed with her iPhone cradled in one hand and her forehead in the other, the widescreen TV switched off. Her eyes were downcast as her knee bounced nervously on the spot. She didn't look up when Santana entered, continuing to worry her fingers across her phone's touch screen with a distant, unreadable expression painting her beautiful features.

"What is it?"

Quinn snapped her head up to meet her gaze with a glassy stare and a sad smile; something was definitely wrong. She looked defeated and tired as she swallowed audibly and looked away. Santana's smile dropped when she bit her lip and let a heavy sigh escape.

"That was my boss, Chris," Quinn began in a tight voice as she proceeded to lock and unlock her phone. "The guy I'm doing the internship with in London."

"And?"

The pit of Santana's stomach twisted uncomfortably for reasons she didn't know. The atmosphere was thick between them as she waited for Quinn to continue; scared at the response she could see rolling off her tongue. Scared, but needing to hear her say the words.

"And I have to be back sooner than I thought."

And there they were.

Santana's knot rocketed into her chest, and sent the incessant, ever-present ache into overdrive. She let out a shaky breath, trying to breathe around the lump in her throat. But it was no good. She couldn't breathe without it burning, and she couldn't speak without it hurting. Even thoughts sent blood rushing to her ears, and a throbbing just behind her lids.

"How soon is soon?" she asked in a clipped tone, bracing herself against the wall behind her.

"He has a train ticket waiting for me when we get back to Paris."

"When?" Santana snapped, making the other girl jump slightly. "Q?"

Her heart clenched.

"Sunday," she mumbled, keeping her eyes on her cell phone.

And then it shattered.

"But that's less four days from now," Santana choked. "We still have over a week left, you promised."

"I know," Quinn breathed in a defeated voice, finally looking up from her lap. "San-"

Turning on her heel, she marched back into the bathroom and slammed the door closed. The wood vibrated off the doorjamb as she twisted the lock and sunk down onto the tiled floor, her back against the door. She couldn't stand there and listen to her anymore; she'd heard enough. She'd heard those words she was scared to hear come from those lips, and it was too much for her to take.

_I…how can…_

She heard a sigh and the dull shuffle of footsteps, followed by a light knocking. Her head hit her knees as tears began to fall. She knew this was coming, she'd know since the platform in Venice. But she figured if she didn't think about it, if she swept it under the rug, this day would never arrive; the day when Quinn would leave and take her heart with her.

The knocking continued, accompanied with the vain attempts of twisting the handle. It echoed in her ringing ears as she tried to shut it out, but it was no use. Every breath Quinn took, every slam her fist made reverberated around the small room and drowned out everything else. She couldn't escape it no matter how badly she wanted to.

"Santana, open up," came Quinn's muffled voice.

She shook her head as her silent tears continued to fall, knowing the other girl wasn't able to see her refusal. She didn't want to have to look into those perfect eyes and watch her say goodbye to her. She just wanted to stay in the safety of the bathroom, and pretended like it didn't feel like her whole world was ending.

"Santana?"

She let out a choked sob, swiping away her tears with the back of her hand. She felt a dull thud high up on the door, like someone had leant their head against it. She heard a breath, before that tired, angelic voice spoke again from the other side.

"We both knew this was inevitable," Quinn sighed. "Please open the door."

_And there is no point prolonging the inevitable, is there?_

Santana pushed to her feet, and checked herself briefly in the mirror. Ugly dark smudges coloured her eyes again and streaked down her cheeks. She shrug empathetically, not really caring at this point at keeping up the appearance of collected. She took a deep breath, before clicking the lock and edging the wooden door open just enough for Quinn to see her face; those eyes looking back at her mirroring her own.

"This isn't fair," Santana sniffed, swallowing hard against the lump that was still high in her throat.

"Number nine, no saying how much this sucks," Quinn jested, making both girls laugh, though it came out as more of a strangled sob. Santana smiled sadly at her, the other girl's attempt at cheering her up succeeding, no matter how in vain it was.

_This fucking sucks._

Santana opened the door wider and made a move to walk the rest of the way out of the bathroom, but the blonde blocked her advances. Quinn stood her ground, and if anything edged closer to her. Santana's heart beat out of her already broken chest as the girl leant in, prompting her to close her eyes against her intense gaze. She felt her hot breath dance across her parted lips, and Quinn's fingertips graze her own that hung limply by her side. Her body arched closer to her own until it was flush against hers, and she could feel the girl's heart thump wildly through her thin singlet, close and warm.

"Don't start something you can't finish," Santana breathed against Quinn's lips as she edged even closer.

The heat and the light touch on her fingers stopped, only to be replaced by a soft tugging against the waist of her jean shorts. Santana snapped her eyes open to see Quinn unbuttoning the top of her denim shorts, her eyes on her hands, and the soft flicks of her hair brushing against the underside of Santana's chin. The brunette shivered as a tight knot formed low in her stomach, and her breath came out in short bursts.

Quinn pulled down the zipper and locked dark eyes onto deep brown ones. Santana watched her every movement, not questioning her, just watching and waiting. She waited until she felt warm fingers hit her lower abdomen, and she watched as they trailed down underneath the hem of her underwear. She let out a strangled moan when they hit their destination, Quinn's scared but lust filled eyes never leaving hers.

_Holy shit._

_Dreams did not do those fingers justice._

Quinn made small, tight circles as Santana leant into the touch, those fingers making coherent thought impossible. She gripped the side of Quinn's neck with one hand and her arm in the other, feeling the muscles clench and release underneath her fingertips.

"We can't," she moaned breathlessly, her short nails digging into her pale arm.

"Why not?"

Her voice shook. She sounded terrified, but her movements were precise and sure; the only sign that she had no intention of stopping.

"Because we'll regret it. Because you're leaving me. Because-"

Soft lips cut off her excuses, and took what little breath she had with it. Those lips massaged hers purposefully and lovingly until she didn't have any more reasons to stop. The kiss was short, Quinn breaking it to trail up to Santana's ear. She pressed her lips lightly to the base of her jaw line, before meeting her eyes once more.

"I don't think I could ever regret making love to you."

_Number ten, no saying-_

_Oh, fuck it._

Santana surged forward, knocking Quinn to the bed, her hand still firmly down the front of her shorts. She shuffled them both up the soft mattress as they reconnected their mouths, delving deeper, Santana needing the contact and needing to forget what this meant to both of them. She rocked her hips forward as she straddled her thighs, gasping when Quinn's hand slid lower, dipping inside her without warning.

_Oh fuck._

Santana sat up, gripping Quinn's singlet in her fists and pulling her up with her. She ripped off her shirt with one swift pull, then made to do the same to Quinn, but paused when she remembered where her hand was. She debated internally whether the blonde being naked was worth the brief interruption of her fingers that continued with their rhythmic movements. But when they curled inside her she dropped the idea instantly.

_Later._

_Much, much later._

Quinn's free hand gripped at the back of her shorts and ripped them lower, revealing bare skin that she palmed roughly. Her lips moved along her exposed collarbone, and down toward the swell of her chest, Santana's hand gliding through soft hair and holding her in place.

Her mind was swimming; she couldn't think, or breathe, or do anything but feel. Feel those heavenly fingers push, and pull, and curl in the most amazing and breathtaking ways. Feel those soft lips suck the tanned skin of her neck, and mark every inch of her. And feel the blonde's hand hold her closer, and her heart beat faster.

She was everywhere.

With every thrust of her hips, and with every kiss of those perfect lips, it took a little of Santana with it. Her whole body ached in the best way possible. She could feel the delicious pressure building deep in her stomach as she gripped Quinn's shoulders tighter, and moved in sync with her hips and her fingers.

Two weeks of sexual frustration.

Two weeks of staring into those perfect almond eyes.

Of fantasizing, _dreaming_ what this moment would be like.

Two weeks.

_And now I have less than four days left._

"I love-"

"Don't say it," Quinn moaned against her neck. "Please."

So she didn't.

Instead she said it with every roll of her hips. She said it with every arch of her back. And with every kiss she gave that mouth, and every tender stroke she gave to that tongue.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

Deep in the back of Santana's mind she knew this wasn't Quinn's way of saying I love you, or I can't live without you. Or even that the world sometimes isn't fair. It was her way of saying goodbye. And as she rode out her orgasm she tried to forget that in less than four days the love of her life would be leaving hers.


	8. I: Unable To Stay, Unwilling To Leave

Santana reached a hand across the soft white sheets, seeking out the warmth from the body beside her. It came back empty and cold, the material cool against her bare skin. She edged one eye open, and then the next, blinking against the harsh light that streamed in from the quiet street. The sheets beside her were twisted and ruffled, Santana's heart beginning to race at the sight. She sat up, looking frantically around the room, loose bits of clothing decorating the floor and haphazardly strewn across her bedside table.

"Hey you."

Her head snapped to the familiar voice, letting out a sigh when she saw the girl lounging in the corner chair. Quinn's right knee was drawn up to her chin, and her journal lay open in her hand. Resting her pen gently against her chin, she dropped her gaze back to her notebook, the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Hi," Santana greeted as she pulled the sheet up around herself that had dropped to her waist during her slight panic. Quinn looked back up through her lashes and grinned at her, before closing the book and walking over to the bed. Leaning across the mattress, she placed a light peck to Santana's unsuspecting lips, before pulling back and sitting down next to her. Warmth spread down to Santana's chest and radiated out to her hands, where they gripped the sheet tighter around her naked body.

_I could definitely get used to this._

Santana's teeth pressed gently into her bottom lip as she fought off the smile that was threatening to break free at the seemingly small gesture, causing Quinn to look away bashfully. Her fingers began absently toying with the leather strap on her journal, Santana watching her for a moment, before rolling onto her stomach and settling a pillow under her chin.

"Why were you over there?"

"I couldn't sleep," Quinn shrugged, still not meeting her eye. She unwound the string and began flipping through the pages, Santana for the first time seeing glimpses of what was beyond its dark brown cover. Every lined page was filled with endless words; paragraph after paragraph. It would sometimes break for a rough sketch of hands, or eyes, but then the words would just continue on.

After what happened last night, Santana more than ever wanted to know what was going on in Quinn's head. She wanted to know if what they did meant something to Quinn. She wanted to know whether last night changed anything for her, or was she still going to lose her in three days time. She_ needed_ to know.

"Read me something."

Quinn turned to her with scared eyes as she worried her fingers along the edge of the bound cover. Santana held them there, watching them flicker with a fear that she still didn't quite comprehend, nor did she assume to know the basis. The blonde tore her eyes away and cleared her throat, looking back to her lap, before speaking in a hesitant tone.

"What did you want to hear?"

_That you love me, and that you'll stay._

"Anything," Santana breathed softly, before letting her eyes fall shut. She listened to the distinct flick of the paper, and of Quinn's deep breathing. It seemed like an eternity before she spoke again, her voice just as hesitant as before.

"Um, May 9th," Quinn murmured. "We were on the bus to Munich that day, remember?" Santana nodded, but kept her eyes shut, letting the sound of Quinn's voice wash over her, committing it to memory. "I love the way she looks at me. No one's ever looked at me the way that she does. It scares me that she can make me feel like I'm the only one in the room, or just by smiling at me can make my heart skip."

Quinn paused for a moment to take in a shaky breath. Santana didn't open her eyes as her chest began to ache and her throat started to constrict. A part of her was suddenly regretting asking the question, but the other part, the irrational part needed to hear these words. It needed to hear that these intense feelings she's had for the past two weeks weren't one sided. It hurt to hear, but the constant "what if" that would have plagued her after they said their goodbyes would have tortured her more than this ache, and this lump that she did her best to swallow.

"I find myself wanting to be so many things for her. I find myself needing to be closer, needing to feel the touch of her hand, or the brush of her shoulder, even if it's only for a moment. I can't help it. And that fact alone scares the shit out of me. The fact that I can't help it. The fact that I have no control over these feelings."

Santana buried her face in her pillow, letting it soak up the silent tears she didn't want Quinn to know were falling; but it didn't stop them. It only served as a deterrent as they pooled in the soft cotton, creating damp circles on the pillowcase. She turned her head away from her and continued to listen to the words that she'd wanted to hear since the first day they'd met; the day everything changed.

"I used to think love was just this imaginary tale told to young girls like Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy. Just something we'll hold onto until we're old enough to realize that life isn't a fairytale. But the way she looks at me makes me think that maybe I was wrong, that just maybe this is what those stories were teaching us all along."

_Please stop._

"I think I'm falling for her," Quinn finished, her voice wavering. "And I don't know what to do."

Santana took a moment to wipe her eyes and take a deep breath, before turning to look at the girl beside her. She was still looking down at the journal, too afraid to take her eyes off the one thing that seemed to bring her clarity, and fix them upon the one thing that stole it away. Santana turned onto her back and stared up at the plain white ceiling, drawing Quinn's gaze from her notebook.

"Why can't you say it?"

"Say what?"

"You know," Santana said, trying to word her thoughts carefully. "The thing that made you mad when I said it to you."

"I wasn't mad at you, I just," Quinn sighed with a small shake of her head. "I've never been good at-I don't know. I've always been better at writing my feelings, I guess."

Santana nodded absently, before sitting up and resting her back against the headboard, making sure to keep a tight grasp on the bed sheet. She looked back to the journal still in Quinn's lap and thought of everything else that would be written beyond the pages she'd just been told. She wondered about all of the times when she'd innocently touched her, and all the times she wasn't there, or more recently couldn't remember. What did it say about those moments?

_If that was only day five, imagine what day fourteen says._

"Can you read me what you just wrote?" she asked, hoping vainly that she would let her in past her emotional walls. Quinn swung her legs over the side of the bed quicker than what Santana thought possible. The girl whipped around, her journal pressed tightly to her chest and the soft skin of her cheeks flushed red.

"Um, I don't-I mean, I think I'm just going to go take a shower," she stuttered out, before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door tightly behind her.

_I'll take that as a no._

* * *

><p>"What exactly am I looking at?"<p>

"A church."

"_This_ is a church?" Santana asked, shock clear in her tone. "It looks like someone took fire to a wax candle, and then decided it was a good idea to inhabit it."

Quinn giggled at the remark, nudging her playfully, before sliding her hand coolly into Santana's that hung lazily at her side. The darker girl shivered at the easy contact, loving the feeling of that smooth skin against her own. She looked up into those perfect almond eyes to find them staring back at hers with that mix of hesitancy and naïve innocence, followed by that underlining want and the need she'd come to know so well. Santana didn't pretend to know what it meant, and it was still lost on her how Quinn could portray so many emotions with just one look, but then none at all.

And that's what scared _her_.

It scared her that at any given moment she couldn't just look at Quinn and know what she was thinking, or feeling. She was so guarded with her emotions; it was almost as if she censored them. It was as if she was too afraid to feel for fear of getting hurt, or ending up like her parents; bitter and resentful.

_I wish you would just let me in._

She hadn't the slightest idea of where they stood; Quinn hadn't exactly been forth coming after she got out of the shower that morning. And to be honest, she still wasn't. She seemed content to just pretend like everything was perfect, or at least for the time being. She would be affectionate, steal a kiss whenever she could, but Santana was so lost in her emotions over this come here, go away trip Quinn was pulling her through that she didn't know _what_ to think at this point.

Quinn squeezed her hand gently, before letting her grip fall loose only to intertwine their fingers. A smile tugged at the corner of her pink lips as she let out another giggle and pulled Santana further along the pathway that bordered the building's entrance.

_God, I'm going to miss that sound._

The girls walked past the towering spires and gothic arches of _Sagrada Familia_, the monstrous structure throwing the surrounding park into shadow. It was still early in the day as they looked up to its highest peaks and over the aging stone, slowly making their way around one of Barcelona's central monuments.

"I think that's what he was going for," Quinn replied after a moment.

"Who?"

"The architect, Guadi," Quinn explained as they walked along the street parallel to the church, and then across to the park opposite. "But he died before he could finish it. The new architects seriously fucked up the back of it though. It's almost completely unrecognizable from the other side."

"Sounds like he had a few screws loose if you ask me," Santana commented light heartedly.

"Maybe," Quinn smiled. "He actually designed quite a few buildings around the city, a park or two as well."

They continued along the crowded street, Quinn absently running her thumb over the back of Santana's hand. She looked down at their still intertwined fingers, watching as Quinn made small circles on the sensitive skin. The tiny motions made her heart beat heavily in her chest; it was maddening. It felt too easy, and made her forget that this thing between them wasn't forever. That in less than seventy-two hours all this would be gone. That stray thought alone flared the ache that threatened to consume her the night before, and made Quinn's thumb feel like a knife against her skin with every stroke.

"What are we doing?" Santana breathed in a tired voice.

"Taking a leisurely stroll through the park," Quinn jested. "Admiring the ducks."

"You know what I mean," Santana digressed, pulling on their hands so Quinn would stop. "What are we going to do? You've been dodging the subject all morning, and not giving me a straight answer when I try to talk to you about it."

"Talk about what?" Quinn asked, her voice going up an octave and her eyes not quite meeting the brunette's.

"We had _sex_, Quinn," Santana stated in hushed tone. "And, oh I don't know, maybe the fact that you're leaving."

Quinn hung her head and scuffed her flats against the rough gravel beneath their feet. Turning away from Santana, she dropped their hands and walked over to a nearby bench, taking a seat on its edge. She gripped the hard concrete with both hands, before looking back at Santana.

"Can't we just take each day as it comes?"

"How?" Santana huffed, walking over to take a seat next her. "There's only three left."

"Let's just enjoy the rest of our time here," Quinn ventured, her eyes wandering the surrounding park. "Don't think about tomorrow, or the next day, just concentrate on the here and now. Concentrate on being in this beautiful city, and being with me, okay?"

_That seems like we're just prolonging the inevitable again._

Santana stared dejectedly at the ground, avoiding those puppy dog eyes she knew Quinn would be sporting. She knew if she looked up into those eyes she wouldn't be able to refuse her. But it wasn't fair of her to ask Santana to do that, to just sweep it under the rug. She'd done that for two weeks up until last night, and she was not about to go back to that. The pain she felt at that realization nearly destroyed her; no good would come from doing it a second time round.

The light brush of fingertips had her shutting her eyes and hanging her head. They travelled up her fingers and across the back of her hand, Santana forcing herself not to shiver at the calming feeling of the gesture. Quinn rested her forehead against her shoulder, before whispering softly against her bare skin.

"Please?"

_Fucking hell._

"Okay," Santana relented with a defeated shrug, finally meeting those eyes.

Quinn smiled sadly and pressed her lips firmly to Santana's, her hand enclosing the girl's that was gripping the bench tightly. Santana relaxed into the kiss, momentarily forgetting, and instead savouring the feeling of those lips against her own.

* * *

><p>She pulled down the blind, the afternoon sun creeping in through the bus' tinted windows. Santana leant her head on Quinn's, where she'd fallen asleep on her shoulder somewhere around the Spanish-French border. The soft blonde hair was heaven against her cheek, Santana brushing her fingers absently through its short strands. Quinn stirred, a small smile edging itself onto her lips. Those long pale fingers curled around Santana's arm and buried themselves into her Ohio State hoodie, before she fell back asleep.<p>

Santana did her best to heed her advice and forget what the end of each day meant for them, but it wasn't a switch she could just turn off. It was always there as a constant reminder. A dark cloud that cast a shadow over everything.

_Forty-two hours._

Santana looked back down at the sleeping girl on her shoulder, wondering if things would have been different if she'd made a move sooner. According to Quinn, she'd fallen for her just as fast as Santana did; would it have been different if she had kissed her at Prater, or made a move at any one of the countless moments before the other night? If they had spent more time just like this, would she still be determined to leave her?

The irrational part of Santana, a part that Quinn had helped foster over the last few weeks said that it did. That love should be able to conquer any amount of space and time. But the logical part said that more time wasn't the problem, _Quinn_ was. The girl seemed to have no qualms about being with her when it was easy, and simple, and fun. But as soon as she was confronted with any mention of feelings beyond that, she froze up and checked out. And Santana knew that a few more days wouldn't have changed that.

_The year we'll be apart could change everything though._

* * *

><p>"I've been wondering," Santana said, causing the girl to look up from her dessert. "What was up with those rules? Though I admit they did make things interesting to say the least, they were a little drastic."<p>

Quinn smiled, bringing a spoonful of caramel to her mouth. She licked it clean, before scraping another portion onto her spoon. Santana watched her carefully, picking at her own dessert while she waited for her to answer.

"Those rules were meant to make things easier on both of us," she stated simply with a shrug. "I guess they just ended up making it unnecessarily hard. But I think it's safe to say that we kind of took a lighter to that list the other night though."

"That's for sure," Santana agreed around another mouthful.

The girls sat across from each other in a quaint restaurant just off the main strip of Bordeaux, a few hours north of Barcelona. It was beautiful, and Santana's first glimpse of France outside of Paris. It differed vastly from the famous city with its paved streets and trams, gothic churches and endless restaurants. It was quiet and peaceful, and the perfect way to spend one of their last nights together.

Santana looked up from her plate into playful eyes that frankly took her back to the first day they met, when everything was simple, and this dark cloud wasn't weighing down on their time together.

"What?" she asked as Quinn continued to stare at her.

"I've got an idea," she told her with a grin. "Just for tonight, while we're in the food and wine capital of France, how about we see just how many of those rules we can break?"

Santana choked on her mouthful of chocolate as her heart rate climbed to an exceedingly unhealthy level. She dropped her spoon, bringing her napkin to her lips as she tried to compose herself. Quinn giggled, lacing her fingers together under her chin and waited patiently for a response.

_Is this girl trying to kill me?_

"I don't think I even remember half of them," Santana deflected, unsure if this was the safest idea as she distinctly remembered one or two that just the thought of sent a throbbing between her legs and a flush to her already red cheeks.

"Lucky for you, I keep a spare handy," Quinn teased, taking out her iPhone from her pocket and flicking it open. Santana gawked at her as she brushed her fingers along the sleek screen. After a moment she sat up straighter in her chair and cleared her throat, before beginning to list them off. "Number one, no staring."

She looked up from the screen to find Santana sitting with wide eyes and her jaw on the floor. "Check," she announced with a giggle, prompting Santana to close her mouth with a snap. "Number two, no flirting or sexual innuendos."

Quinn looked around the crowded restaurant for a moment, the other patrons chatting happily amongst themselves. She motioned with her head to the exit, a smirk gracing her lips before she got up, leaving a fifty on the wooden tabletop. Grabbing Santana by the hand, she all but dragged her out of her seat and through the front door.

"Number three," Quinn stated, holding up their intertwined fingers as they broke out onto the dark street. "No touching."

They turned left, and walked hand in hand down the street, Santana's heart racing as all thoughts of tomorrow vanished. She was unable to wipe the dopey grin from her face, gripping Quinn's hand tighter in her own before she spoke.

"What about number two?"

"Please," Quinn retorted, spinning on the spot to face her. "Doing this in the first place is enough, or do you forget the unwritten part to that rule?"

_No saying things that make you want to rip each others' clothes off._

"Point taken," Santana conceded. Quinn grinned at her as they made their way past a dark church with a large circular stained glass window. There was scaffolding covering the left side, and iron lamps decorating the surrounding square. A young couple walking hand in hand past the stone building stopped to gaze upon the pointed spires and slanted roofs. Santana's heart thudded at the sight, the boy leaning over to kiss the girl on the forehead as she sighed into his touch. They looked so in love, and it made her chest ache at what could only be described as envy; it looked so simple for them.

_Do we look like that to strangers?_

_Does it look like we're in love?_

Santana looked over at Quinn. Her head was bowed, looking at the illuminated touch screen of her phone. The brunette pulled the girl in closer, Quinn looking up with a genuine smile as she leant into the embrace. Santana brushed her lips across her ear, closing her eyes against the flood of emotions that hit her with how simple it _could_ be for them.

_Why can't I keep you?_

"Number four-"

"That's one I do remember since I was the one that made it up," Santana interrupted before Quinn could finish. "And we are not hooking up with other people, so you can just go ahead and cross that one off the list."

Quinn laughed at the scowl on Santana's face, pecking her on the lips to let her know she had no intention of breaking that rule tonight. Santana smiled despite the memories that rule brought up, placing a second kiss to Quinn's forehead, before turning her attention to the phone she held between them.

"Which brings us to number five and six, no wearing revealing clothing, or sharing a bed." Quinn looked up from the phone with a smirk, her eyes heavy as they bore into Santana's. "We can break those later tonight."

_Oh fuck, kill me now._

"We are on fire," Quinn noted with a smile, before reading the next rule. "No confessi-ons, um, concerning the other."

Quinn's face fell as she swallowed audibly, before meeting Santana's gaze. Her eyes were cautious, and her features were laced with that fear the darker girl hadn't seen since the day before when she'd read to her.

"It's okay," Santana relented, brushing her thumb across the back of her hand. "We can skip it. And if I recall since it isn't raining, number eight is out too."

Quinn nodded and looked back down at the list. Santana could see the relief wash over her at not having to let her in once again. It bothered her to no end, these walls she put up around her heart. She felt like screaming, or tearing them down with brute force.

"Number nine, no saying how much this sucks," Quinn read. "Does that one count since I only said it to get you to smile?"

"We can skip it too," Santana told her, slightly deflated.

"Okay, and finally number ten," Quinn said before she furrowed her brow in confusion. "I didn't actually write anything for that one. Did we end up making a tenth?"

Quinn looked back up at Santana, her smile faltering once she caught sight of the girl's face. Santana's blood had run cold, her heart sinking further in her chest when she remembered the one they hadn't bothered to pen down since it was sort of a given between them. Quinn eyed her curiously as she locked her phone and placed it back in her pocket.

"What is it?" Quinn asked.

"Um, number ten," Santana stammered, before clearing her throat and starting again. "Number ten was no promises of forever."

"Oh."

"This fucking sucks."

* * *

><p>They walked along The Seine, passing souvenir stalls that lined the path parallel to the wide river. The afternoon sun shone low in the sky, a burnt orange haze hanging over Paris. The city was beautiful at dusk. It transformed from a tourist's haven into a romantic getaway as soon as the sun began to set.<p>

The two had spent most of the afternoon walking the endless corridors and passageways of the Louvre. It wasn't that Santana wasn't excited to see the famous museum, but this was the one day she felt the need to be selfish with Quinn. She didn't want to spend it with millions of tourists and guides, all snapping away with their cameras at pointless art. She didn't care about the Mona Lisa, or the Vitruvian Man. She cared about Quinn, and she frankly thought that spending their time at the museum, _any_ museum was a waste of their last hours together.

Quinn, who was a few steps ahead of Santana, turned right onto a wide footbridge, people slowly strolling across the wooden slats. She turned to the brunette, linking her arm through hers as she caught sight of her melancholy expression.

"What's the matter, roomie?" Quinn chirped. "You look blue."

"You really have to ask?" Santana deadpanned, reiterating when the girl quirked an eyebrow in her direction. "Thirteen hours."

Quinn heaved a sigh and steered the girl to the railing of the bridge. A passenger boat passed underneath them as they leant against the metal fence.

"I thought we agreed not to think about that?" Quinn mumbled, looking out over the water. She squinted against the setting sun, slipping her aviators over her eyes.

"Easier said than done."

"Yeah," she agreed, turning around and leaning her back against the bar. Santana looked away from her, running her hands across the cool metal. She moved her gaze to the rest of the bridge, people part way down leaning over the railing, their hands outstretched. She watched as they secured something to the bridge, before straightening up and throwing something else over the edge.

"What are they doing?" Santana asked curiously.

"Oh, this is a Love-Locks bridge," Quinn explained. "It's another tradition. You're meant to place a lock on one of the bridges links, and then throw the keys into the river. It's meant to seal your love forever, or something like that."

Santana watched as a couple halfway up the bridge threw their set of keys over the side, giving each other a peck on the lips as it hit the water, disappearing instantly.

_If only._

Santana continued to watch pair after pair repeat this. Every single one them looked so happy and in love. With every click of the lock, and with every throw, Santana's heart ached worse and worse. After what felt like hours, she turned back to Quinn to find her staring at her, her fingers toying with the zipper on her backpack, or more specifically the lock that hung from it's clasp. Santana's eyes locked onto the small gold object as Quinn continued to stare.

_She wouldn't, would she?_

"What are you doing?" Santana asked, her heart pounding beneath her chest.

Quinn kept her mouth shut as she turned the key and detached the small lock, and walked over to the chain link fence beside them. Santana watched with stunned awe as the girl bent down and clicked the lock around the thin metal wire a third of the way down. She straightened up, holding the keys out in front of her as she walked over to where Santana stood motionless and glued to the spot. Without taking her eyes off her, she lobbed them sideways into the river.

"I'm breaking rule number ten."

* * *

><p>The strong wind whipped around her ears, and settled against her cheeks. She stood huddled in her leather jacket as she looked out over the skyline of Paris, the city twinkling against the dark horizon. Spotlights from boats along the Seine River glinted off the water's surface below, reflecting the surrounding buildings. Headlights of cars shone as they moved in and out of the building line in the distance, while hundreds of people bustled past, stopping to take a photo of the view.<p>

"It's beautiful," Quinn commented as she leant against the railing.

Santana turned to the girl beside her, her hands buried deep in her black coat. Her short hair fluttered around her face, the lights from the city catching the green and the subtle browns in her almond eyes. Those perfect lips were chapped from the cold wind, and her pale cheeks were flushed red.

_She_ was beautiful.

"Yeah, it is," Santana breathed without taking her eyes off the girl.

Quinn turned to her and smiled, licking those lips. Santana wanted nothing more than to close the distance and capture them one more time; feel them against her own, and forget again for just a few more minutes.

_Time's running out._

"Did you know if you propose to someone on top of the Eiffel Tower, you get a free meal?" Quinn stated, breaking Santana out of her momentary reverie. She blinked and shook her head with a smirk, before responding.

"Final days, and you're still as cheap as ever," Santana jested before she could stop herself. Once the words left her mouth she froze, her eyes widening at the implication behind the comment. Quinn looked back at her with a mix of shock and confusion, as she opened and closed her mouth, lost for words.

"I didn't mean it like that," Santana blurted. "I wasn't suggesting-"

"I-I know you weren't," Quinn stammered, before looking away and focusing on the view in front of them.

_Girl leaves in ten hours, suggest that she marries you._

_Nice work Lopez, smooth._

Santana gripped the metal railing in front of her, letting the cold burn into her palms. It momentarily distracted her from her flushed cheeks and the awkward tension that had fallen between the girls. But it didn't last for long as people surrounding them all rushed to the railing, chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

"What's happening?"

"Hey, look," Quinn exclaimed, pulling on Santana's sleeve and pointing down to the base of the tower. Thousands of bright lights flashed all the way up the steel, illuminating the whole structure. They glinted and gleamed, the Eiffel Tower temporarily transformed into a beacon of light.

_Wow, now that's something you don't see every day._

Both girls leant back from the edge, their shoulders brushing together as the crowd closed in on the railing. Quinn looked around them at the mass of people, before taking her by the hand and leading her through them, toward the elevators at the centre. There were at least three carriages of people lined up before they were able to exit, the girls having nothing to do but wait. And just like every time Santana was forced to wait, her eyes turned to Quinn. Except this time, instead of feeling want and love, all she felt was sadness and heartbreak at the beautiful girl before her.

So it was there in a crowd of hundreds, a thousand feet off the ground that Santana finally let her first tears at Quinn's impending departure fall. She didn't know why they chose this moment to appear, or why they didn't wait until they were alone. But as she looked at the girl next to her, she couldn't help but picture the things that could have been between them, instead of the things that were.

_Ten hours._

* * *

><p>Santana laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling. A streak of moonlight streamed in through the window, hitting her bed and throwing the rest of the room into darkness. She was restless and torn, her eyes stinging from the lack of sleep and the threat of the unshed tears she was bound to unleash come morning. Her heart ached incessantly, and her mind wouldn't stop showing her the last three weeks, like a photo reel on loop. From waking up on the train when she was first met with those eyes, and hearing that laugh as she steered the gondola through narrow canals. To seeing that smile as she ran after her at Prater, then the feel of her skin against her fingertips as smoke passed between them.<p>

_The look on her face after she received the phone call._

_The sound of her moaning into my neck moments later._

Santana slammed her head back onto her pillow, trying to dislodge the memories. Trying and failing. She couldn't believe that this was it, that when she woke up Quinn would be gone. She turned her head to the bedside table, her watch resting on the polished wood.

_Seven hours._

The lack of noise in the room was deafening. Usually she'd be able to hear Quinn's light snoring, or the calming hum of the air conditioner, but when she strained to listen she could her nothing but her heart beat in her ears, and the sound of her own heavy breathing.

"Quinn, are you asleep?" she whispered into the darkness of the hotel room. Santana waited a beat before she heard the rustling of sheets, followed by the muffled whine of bedsprings. She was just about to call out again when the side of her bed dipped, and a warm body slid in next her. Hands brushed across her stomach as Quinn pulled in close to her side.

"No," she breathed right in her ear, her nose grazing her jaw line. Santana breathed in deeply, the smell of vanilla filling her senses. Everything about Quinn these past three days sent that ache to her chest. Every smile and laugh. Every soft graze of her fingertips. Every time she kissed her she wondered if it would be their last, and every embrace she'd count the seconds until she'd have to let go.

Santana snaked an arm around Quinn's waist, pulling her even closer. Her eyes fell shut as Quinn's lips connected with the soft skin of her neck, causing heat to pool deep in her stomach and had her leaning into the delicate touch. Santana turned her head to capture those lips, Quinn moaning softly against her mouth. She brushed her fingers along her jaw, and ran her tongue across her bottom lip, Quinn shivering and opening her mouth wider to deepen the kiss.

In the back of Santana's mind she knew this was a bad idea, to feel her one more time, to taste her. She knew that waking up tomorrow will be that much more painful. But as she pushed forward, feeling Quinn's body beneath hers, she couldn't bring herself to stop. Her hands knotted in blonde hair, and pale fingers dragged underneath her singlet. They slowly trailed down until they hit the small of her back, fingertips running under the band of her shorts.

"Wait," Santana mumbled against her lips, pulling back so she could look into her eyes. Quinn moved her left hand to her neck, and ran the fingers of the right across Santana's forehead, smoothing out her furrowed brow.

"Please," Quinn breathed, a sadness underlining her tone. "I just want to forget."

"Forget _me_?" Santana asked, her chest heaving at the thought.

"Everything _but_ you."

Santana looked down into those eyes in the limited light and saw nothing but raw honesty. And at that moment she knew that was all Quinn was prepared to give her. Not a proclamation, just honesty. Santana took in a shaky breath before she took the leap, hoping Quinn would catch her.

"I love you."

Quinn's breathed hitched, swallowing hard against those three words. She closed her eyes and nodded, but kept silent. She reached a hand down between them, skimming her fingertips along the hem of Santana's bed shorts once more. Santana leant her forehead against Quinn's, grabbing her hand before she could go any further.

"No."

Quinn sucked in a breath as Santana moved her right arm above her head, securing her wrist, before slowly taking her left from around her neck and doing the same. The blonde's body was completely stretched beneath her, dark eyes boring into hers from below.

"I need you to hear it," Santana said earnestly. "Before you get on that train tomorrow, I need you to know."

She leant down and pressed her lips to Quinn's ear. Taking her earlobe in her mouth, she bit down gently, before rubbing her tongue over the soft skin. She leant her forehead against Quinn's temple and breathed softly into her hair that splayed across the pillow.

"I love you."

Making sure to keep a tight grip on Quinn's wrists with her left hand, Santana trailed down to her neck, brushing her lips across the dip just before her collarbone. Goosebumps rose on pale skin as Santana held a hair's breadth away, feeling Quinn unconsciously lean towards the touch in anticipation.

"I love you."

With each admission, she could feel the struggle in Quinn slowly die, her arms no longer protesting against Santana's grasp. She hoped that if she said it enough that the girl panting beneath her would by some miracle return it. But she knew it wasn't going to happen, so she pulled down her singlet and brought her mouth just above the swell of Quinn's chest, biting down on her pale skin. The blonde let out a whimper, shooting heat straight through Santana as she ran her tongue along where she had just marked.

"I love you."

She pulled back up to met the girl's gaze, her pupils completely eclipsing hazel. Without moving her eyes from Quinn's, using her free hand, she slowly reached downward, running her fingertips over every inch of the girl, watching every emotion that played havoc over her features. Once her hand hit the waistband of her shorts, she only hesitated a second before slipping underneath and through wet heat.

"I love you," she moaned once more just as Quinn arched off the bed.

* * *

><p>"Did you ever regret it?" Santana husked. "Asking me to come with you?"<p>

Her head was touching Quinn's on the pillow, her hand brushing absently through her short hair. Quinn's eyes closed for a moment, her breathing coming out in a steady rhythm. Santana could see her swallow heavily, before they reopened and fixed on hers, that honesty shining through them with every second that passed.

"Countless times," Quinn whispered, running her fingers over Santana's lips. "But would I change it if I could?"

She shook her head softly, Santana's heart wrenching at her admission. They'd been up for hours, watching each other closely, and memorizing every line and freckle, soaking each other in before Quinn would have to get up and finish packing. Santana knew it would be any minute, and even as Quinn reached over her to pick up her iPhone from the bedside table, her grip only tightened around her waist.

"I should really get up," Quinn sighed as she lay back down next to her.

"No," Santana replied stubbornly.

Quinn laughed at her childish pout and untangled herself from Santana. She rolled off the bed and began gathering stray pieces of clothing that were removed the night before, shoving them in the top of her bag. Santana watched her pack just like every other morning. She showered while Santana waited just like every other morning. But unlike the past seventeen, there was a cab waiting at reception ready to take them to the train station. And unlike the past seventeen, Santana knew their destination as the taxi flew through the streets of Paris, every turn bringing them closer.

She felt numb, her eyes burning, and when the cab screeched to a stop, Santana's stomach sunk even further as a wave of nausea overcame her. She took a deep breath and blinked back the tears, before grabbing Quinn's backpack and getting out of the car. They walked side by side in silence through the entrance and into the station. It was crowded, and exactly the way she left it. Families and couples were greeting each other, and saying their goodbyes. Everyone had their own Quinn that they had to leave, but Santana guessed that they _knew_ when they'd be seeing them again.

They made their way over to an empty seat, Quinn's train already being loaded for the trip back to London. "I'll just go grab my ticket," Quinn said, dumping her rucksack next to the bench. "Chris said he left it at the Information desk."

Santana nodded numbly, and flopped down on the seat. She stared down at the wooden slats, graffiti etched deep into their lacquered surface. She ran her fingers over the scarred wood, and it was suddenly seventeen days ago. She remembered how scared she was that first day, the smell of coffee in the air reminding her of what she left behind. It felt like a lifetime ago, she was such a different person back then. It was hard to believe that it had only been three weeks. Santana's throat began to constrict with the memories, making it impossible to swallow. She traced her finger over the chipped surface, welcoming the sharp pricks that dug into the pad of her fingertip.

"I saw you, you know."

"Huh?"

"Right here, three weeks ago," Quinn recalled, motioning to the wooden bench. She took a seat next to her, a small slip of paper in her hand. "I remember thinking that you looked so lost."

"I was," Santana choked, her eyes welling up.

"And now?"

"And now it feels like I'm right back where I was," Santana told her honestly. "Only this time, I know what it's like not to be."

Quinn nodded, her short nails picking at the flaking wood. She looked up at the train, a sad smile passing over her features, her eyes distant.

"I was in the carriage down from yours, and I saw you when I got up to get something to eat. You were fast asleep, and I-" Quinn's voiced trailed off, her gazing hitting the ground.

Santana took in another deep breath, her lungs burning with the effort. There was still so much she didn't know. About Quinn. About the world. This shouldn't be the end, it should be the beginning. They were only nineteen; they shouldn't be saying goodbye yet.

"And here I thought we were fated to meet, turns out you're just stalker."

Quinn let out a choked sob and leant her forehead against Santana's. She ran her fingers along her cheeks, wiping away stray tears that were under her eyes.

"This isn't goodbye," Quinn murmured.

Santana leant away from her, her brow furrowing. She could feel the nausea rise in her throat, making her head spin. She couldn't hear those words right now. They were meant to be calming, but all it did was shoot pain up her back that spread further to her shoulders, and had her gasping for breath. A sudden anger gripped her heart, and everything she'd been feeling came bubbling to the surface, all her fears, and frustrations, and doubts. She couldn't stop them.

"You can't say that to me right now," Santana spat.

"Why?" Quinn asked in a small voice, confusion lacing her tone.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Santana exclaimed, getting more upset by the second. "You think there's going to be this big serendipitous moment? This isn't the fucking movies, Quinn. I'm not going to write my number on a dollar bill and just hope that one day it finds its way back to you, that_ I_ find my way back to you. Life doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" she stated calmly, which only served to rile Santana up further.

"Why not?" she all but yelled. "Because it just doesn't. You said it yourself, life isn't a fairytale."

Quinn's head snapped to the sound of the announcement coming from the speakers, turning back to Santana with a defeated set to her eyes. She didn't have to speak French to know that it was time to go. Quinn reached for her bag, getting up from the bench. Panic shot through Santana as she got to her feet as well.

_This is actually happening._

_She's really leaving._

"Wait, wait," Santana pleaded, her hands held high. "How will I find you again?"

Quinn laughed at her sudden change, but it came out as more of a strangled hiccup. She took her hand off her bag and took Santana's in hers, squeezing gently as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"You will."

"Okay, I know you're from New York," Santana reasoned, her words coming out in a rush. "There are _millions_ of people in New York, Q."

"Then it won't be that hard for you to find me again, will it?"

"Quinn-"

"Lopez," Quinn snapped, before softening. "If it's meant to be, we'll find each other again."

"How can you say that?" Santana choked, throwing her arms up. "How can you be so blasé about this?"

"Because one of us has to be," she murmured. "Don't make this harder than it already is." The female announcer returned, Quinn's shoulders slumping. "I have to go," Quinn breathed, picking up her rucksack from near her feet and shouldering it.

"Wait!"

"I can't."

Quinn gripped her hand, before pulling her into a tight embrace. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and held her there for a measureless moment, breathing her in. Tears fell onto Quinn's jacket sleeve, Santana not wanting to let go.

The blonde pulled back gently, Santana's arms going limp at her sides. Those eyes looked at her one last time, before she turned around and made her way down the platform where the sleek train sat idle on its tracks. With each step she took, Santana heart broke further and further until she was clawing at her chest, hot tears running down her cheeks and soaking into her sweatshirt.

_This can't be it._

_Turn around._

_Please, don't leave me._

Quinn had reached the sliding door to the first carriage when she paused. She waited, and waited, her head hung low and her back to Santana. In that moment what was left of the brunette's heart stopped. Time slowed as she held her breath, hoping and praying that the girl would turn around. The heavy rucksack hit the concrete platform, and Quinn whirled around, locking eyes with Santana. She balled her hands into fists at her sides as she bounced on the tips of her feet.

_Come back to me._

From fifty feet away, Santana could see the tears falling freely down the girl's cheeks, her breaths coming out in gasps. And then suddenly she was running. Santana's heart leaped into her throat as the girl neared her, jogging the last few steps to meet her. Quinn jumped into Santana's arms, crashing her lips to hers. She could taste the salt of her tears as she held on for dear life. Air didn't matter, nor did the curious stares she was receiving for passing travellers. All that mattered was the girl in her arms, and those lips sliding against hers.

Quinn broke first, loosening her grip from around Santana's neck. She half expected to see that smile she loved grace her lips, but when she looked into her eyes all she saw was complete and utter heartbreak. Quinn slid her hands down to Santana's, and gripped them in her own. With one last breath, she placed a final kiss to her cheek before whispering brokenly in her ear.

"See you in another life."

_No, no, no, no, no._

She pulled back, and without looking at Santana, made her way back to the train and her abandoned bag.

_It's not meant to happen like this._

_You're meant to stay._

Santana no longer held back, hot tears blurring her vision as she watched her leave. She balled her hands into fists as a sharp pain cut across her left palm. She did her best to wipe her eyes as she opened her hand to find a small folded piece of paper. She snapped her head back to the train to see a blur of blonde disappear behind the sliding door. She unfolded it with shaking hands to read just three simple words.

_**I love you.**_

* * *

><p><strong>End of Part One<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>There's a reason it is called As If We Never Said Goodbye, and that reason is called Part Two.<strong>


	9. II: I Hate Myself For Losing You

PART II

_Here we go again…_

* * *

><p>Three years.<p>

Thirty-six months.

One hundred, and fifty-six weeks.

One thousand, and ninety-five days.

That's how long it took to find her again.

That's how long it took to find out that she was no longer the girl who promised forever half a world away.

Three years.

* * *

><p>She lay motionless in bed, the ring of a jackhammer reverberating off the brick walls from the construction site down the street. The city outside her downtown studio apartment was alive and buzzing, car horns and police sirens blaring in the distance. With a sigh, she turned her head to the side to look at the picture on her bedside table,<em> their<em> picture. It sat in its dark wooden frame, Santana stretching out an arm to run her fingers over it like she did every morning. She remembered the day it was taken like it was yesterday. She remembered the cold wind, and the crowded square. She remembered the elderly couple, and even the tram that rattled along its track across the way.

It had been three years, and she still remembered the sound of her laughter when she'd wrapped her up and swung her in her arms from behind. And she would never forget the look in her eyes when she first saw that photo; that scared, but longing look they got when she was letting her see past her walls.

_I miss those eyes._

Santana retracted her hand after a moment. The smell of freshly ground coffee drifted in from the kitchen, letting her know the other girl was awake. The burnt scent still churned her stomach and made her think of her father, the one she hadn't seen in the nine months that she'd been living in New York. He paid for her rent and for the food in her fridge, but couldn't even show his face for her birthday. Twenty-two, and she resented him for it.

She rolled out of bed and padded into the dining area, the wooden floorboards creaking with each step. Ceiling to floor windows covered the whole right wall of her-_their_ apartment, the early morning sun shining in from the world outside. She switched off the coffee maker when she reached the kitchen bench, the machine hissing before the steam died. She busied herself with her own breakfast as pale arms snaked around her waist, Santana relaxing into the familiar embrace. She felt soft lips connect to the back of her neck, and the tingle of breath dance across her tanned skin. She leant back into the blonde, welcoming the peaceful calm that came with those arms.

"Morning, roomie."

A dull ache thudded like an old friend in her chest, gripping her heart and squeezing tightly. She furrowed her brow and took in a deep breath, trying to swallow down that simple word. That feeling, that incessant ache, was always there; it was the one thing that had never truly left her after all these years.

"I thought I told you not to call me that, Britt," she sighed, placing her hand gently on the bare arm wrapped around her middle. She ran her fingers lightly across her skin as she felt the grip go loose, leaving her feeling empty.

"Sorry, forgot," Brittany replied in small voice, taking a step back. "Three weeks?"

"Three weeks," Santana repeated in a tired voice.

It had become like a pseudonym between the two best friends, a compromise so that Santana wouldn't have to hear her name said out loud, not that it did much good. Everything reminded Santana of her, every church and statue, every passing plane or rattle of a train. Even _sunshine_ brought back memories of those seventeen days. And God forbid she ever saw someone with a journal and a pen; those days were the hardest.

Brittany wandered over to the fridge and pulled out the small carton of milk, pouring some into her coffee, before absently passing it to Santana, who had her hand out waiting. She had on the 'Go Green' t-shirt she'd bought her in Amsterdam, the leaf design worn with light blue paint stains covering the hem from when they redecorated Brittany's bedroom a few months ago. The girl jumped lithely onto the breakfast bar, swinging her legs happily as she cradled her steaming cup.

"Are you seeing Puck tonight?" she asked cautiously around a mouthful of coffee.

"Probably," Santana replied, her attention on her bowl of cornflakes and away from her friend. She didn't want to see the disapproving look that always crossed her blue eyes whenever he was brought up in conversation. Ever since high school, Brittany had always had a problem with him, not that she could blame her. He hadn't exactly been boyfriend of the year back then, nor was he now.

"I don't get why you date him," she stated. "He's such a D-bag."

"I know," Santana laughed despite herself. "And we're not dating."

"You deserve better, San."

"I know," she breathed, her mind returning to her for what would be the first of many times that day. Brittany eyed her curiously from her spot on the counter top, pulling her right knee up to her chin and letting the left hang off the edge.

"You're thinking about her again, aren't you?"

Santana had an overpowering urge to say no, but Brittany knew her better than she knew herself and would have been able to see right through her; it had been that way since they were kids, and it wasn't about to change now. Besides, Brittany had been there through the years that she had been without her. She'd seen the tears and the denial of whether what they had was real. Brittany had been there through it all. So when she looked up into those kind eyes, the word got stuck on her tongue where she promptly swallowed it.

"I think I'm just going to go for a run," Santana said. "You want anything while I'm out?"

"I'm okay."

* * *

><p>She yanked out her earplugs and slowed to a jog just outside Central Park, the mid-morning sun shining through the trees. Her chest heaved and sweat poured down her back as she turned under an arched entryway, passing couples and families out for their Sunday morning stroll. Brushing a hand through her loose ponytail, she took in a deep breath and sat on a nearby park bench overlooking the high-rises and skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan.<p>

She'd dreamed her whole life of getting out of Lima and moving to New York, even before Europe it had always been her plan like so many of her friends. But as she scanned the city through the trees, she couldn't help but feel a sense of anti-climax. It was beautiful, she couldn't deny that. But after she'd stood hundreds of feet above a crystal blue lake in the Austrian Tyrol Mountains, and looked out over Paris at night, anything would dull in comparison. Or maybe it was because she'd had her; everything had always been more beautiful through her eyes.

_Fucking hell, Lopez. _

_It's been years, s__he's not coming back._

But as she watched a blonde jog past her, she couldn't help her gaze from following her, her heart sinking when a stranger's eyes locked onto hers, cracking a smile as she passed. Every time she did this, she expected the pain to be a little less, because in many ways she had moved on, or at least that's what she told herself. But every time those eyes weren't hazel, or that smile didn't make her heart race, the ache thudded dully in her chest and had her sighing heavily.

_There are millions of people in this city. _

_I was stupid to think I could find just one._

But she was out there somewhere; it was part of the reason she hadn't forced herself not to look whenever she saw a flash of blonde walk past. Because in the back of her mind it was always that possibility that one day it would be, that those eyes she loved so much would be the ones staring back at her. Almost every day she would come here, sit in a different part of Central Park and just watch. And every day she would promise herself she wouldn't come back tomorrow. But just like that morning, something would be said, or done that would trigger the thought of her, and she'd find herself back here. It was a vicious, torturous cycle that was doing more harm than good. She needed to move on, if not with Noah than with someone else.

_Definitely someone else._

* * *

><p>"Come back to bed."<p>

Large, rough hands grabbed at her waist as she tried to pull on her jeans, toppling her onto the soft mattress behind her. She landed with a muffled thud as lips dragged carelessly across her exposed neck, Santana doing her best not to cringe at the feeling. It had never felt right with Puck, but he was a distraction when she needed it, which turned out to be more often than not. With him it was easy; there was no talk of feelings, no promise of commitment. Her heart was safe.

"I can't, I'll be late for my first day," Santana insisted, trying her best to shake him off while she pulled up her zipper. She felt the bed dip as he moved in closer behind her, running his hands underneath her plain white singlet.

"But you already have a job," he whispered into her ear, dragging his fingers down her stomach. He attached his lips roughly to her bare shoulder, the thin cotton boxers he was wearing doing a poor job at hiding his excitement.

"And what would that be, Noah?" Santana asked as she shrugged off his misplaced affection. She slipped on her leather jacket and slid off the bed, spinning around as she hopped on one foot, pulling on her left boot.

"My groupie."

_Dick._

"Nice try," she retorted over her shoulder, shoving things into her handbag as she searched frantically for her other shoe. She'd only been in New York for a month or two when she ran into her ex. He was playing an open mic night a few blocks from her apartment, and had been seeing him ever since.

_If drunken 3am booty calls were classed as seeing each other._

"Well, what am I meant to do?"

Santana turned around at the sound of his aggravated tone to see what he was referring to, the brunette doing her best not to roll her eyes at the his pathetic pout.

"The cold shower's that way," she deadpanned, pointing to her ensuite to the left of her bedroom. The man just huffed and flopped onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. Santana spotted the other boot near her set of dark wooden drawers, sitting on her corner chair to pull it on.

She watched him closely while she did up the black laces, the man just staring absently at the high ceiling above. Even now, she strained to see what she saw in him when she was fifteen; at least now he'd gotten rid of that god awful mohawk. But he never stopped being that boy from high school, the one that never cared for anyone but himself. The one that got drunk every night, and smoked weed like it was an Olympic sport. And the same one that took her virginity. Santana guessed that was the linchpin in their relationship.

_You can't forget your first, no matter how hard you try._

"What's this new job, anyway?" he sighed, breaking his gaze from the ceiling. "I thought you still worked at the bar."

"Seriously? I quit like two weeks ago, Noah," she exclaimed. "Do you pay attention to _anything_ that comes out of my mouth?"

"Not really."

_It's the same shit, different day with you._

"I'm an assistant at this new independent travel paper," she told him, doing her best to ignore his comment. "Hence the reason I quit my bartending job, this one pays better."

_And I don't have to deal with fuckwits like you every night._

"But it's not like you need the money."

"I'm twenty-two, Puck. I can't keep living off my parents for the rest of my life."

"Why not?" he shrugged. "I plan to."

"I got to go," Santana groaned. "And you better be gone by the time Britt gets back from her audition, you know how she feels about you."

"That's just because she doesn't know what feels like to be under me."

The images the man's words brought had Santana clenching her jaw and her hands curling into fists at her sides. Taking a deep breath, she tried to swallow down the red hot anger those words left behind; it was all she could do not to launch at him and wipe that cocky smirk off his face.

"You're such an ass," Santana muttered, turning for the door.

"Yet you keep coming back."

* * *

><p>Santana stepped out of the cab, throwing two twenties at the driver and stared up at the four-story, old brick apartment block in Brooklyn. Potholes painted the deserted road behind her, and a vacant lot marred by long yellowing grass and a chain link fence sat across the street. It wasn't much to look at, Santana having a hard time believing that a travel paper could be run from one of its floors. She looked down at the business card in her hand, before moving her gaze back to the building in front of her.<p>

_This is definitely it._

She stole herself before walking up to the tarnished metal intercom to the right of the front doors, pressing the button marked eleven. It buzzed loudly followed by low static, and nothing else. Santana was about to call the number again when it buzzed for a second time and she heard the distinct click of the lock beside her. She only hesitated a moment, before pulling open the heavy wooden door and starting up the stairwell. She'd reached the third floor, stopping when she noticed that the numbers only went up to ten.

The building was relatively empty, except for the odd hipster making their way down the hall to her left, closing number seven behind them. She was about to head back down the stairs when she heard excited chatter coming from the level above, Santana poking her head up the stairwell unsure if that was eleven, or if she'd just miscounted the room numbers.

It was then that she heard the familiar voice echo down the stairs, Santana taking two at time to be met with its owner. The tall blonde was standing in the open entrance, Santana noting that eleven took up the whole fourth floor with just a fire escape at the end of the short hall. The woman spun around at the sound of Santana's heavy footsteps, that wide smile she remembered so well stretching across her face. She took two strides and wrapped her up in a tight hug, practically lifting Santana up off the old carpeted floor.

"Holly," Santana laughed, still in her embrace.

"Hey, sweet cheeks. Thank _God_ you're here," the woman enthused. "The launch party is next week, and she is freaking out."

She linked her arm through Santana's, and ushered her into the apartment, passing a few people in jeans and pullovers, who nodded in greeting. It was an open studio space, desks and computers lining the bare brick with a large table in the centre of the room, covered in photographs and stacks of paper. Every wall held three by four prints of famous sights from around the world, Indy music blaring from an unknown source toward the back of the block.

It was safe to say that Santana was pleasantly surprised.

"Hi," Santana replied, slightly startled. "And who is?"

"The girl you'll be working for. Take this," Holly said, while shoving various stationary items into her arms as they weaved their way through the open area. "You do what she tells you, you go home when she tells you. You're basically her bitch."

_You've got to be kidding me._

"So, I could be here all night?" Santana asked in astonishment as they came to a stop outside a glass door that led to one of the two small offices on the floor.

"I honestly don't know how this shit works, she was the one that asked for an assistant, so," Holly shrugged, motioning toward Santana as she swung open the door.

_Awesome._

Santana was starting to think that drunks and lowlifes might have been the easier option. Her old substitute had definitely left this part out of the job description when she'd shown up at the bar a few weeks ago. Santana was under the impression she would be _assisting_ this girl; taking her lunch order and answering her phone calls, not playing master-slave.

_Is this going to be some kind of Devil Wears Prada bullshit?_

Santana walked into the small office, placing her bag and notebook on the coffee table in the centre of the room. There was a large wooden desk to her left with a backlit counter behind it covered in more of the same photographs that were out in the main area. To her right was a smaller desk facing the door that appeared to be a newer addition to the room than the rest of the furniture. She shrugged off her leather jacket and slung it over one of the chairs, taking in her new surroundings.

"So this is where you'll be sitting," Holly said, indicating toward the smaller of the two. "And that's Q's desk. She's just out on a coffee run at the moment-" Santana's head snapped at the mention of the girl's name, the blood completely draining from her features. "I could call her if you want one, she didn't leave too long ago."

It had been three years since she heard that name said out loud, the ache flaring with that single syllable. Holly was looking at her curiously as Santana continued to have a small heart attack in the middle of the office. It took her a moment to find her words once she realized the woman was waiting for a response to her question.

"No, that's okay, I umm, don't drink coffee," Santana stuttered, her heart tearing at her chest. "I'm sorry, what did you say her name was?"

_Please don't say it._

_Please don't say it._

"Quinn, but she prefers Q," she told her, Santana's heart completely stopping. "Don't worry, you'll love her."

_Too late._

* * *

><p>It had been fifteen minutes. Fifteen slow, agonizing minutes since Holly had left her alone. And in those fifteen minutes she had not once taken a seat or stopped moving, pacing back and forth or making circles around the centre coffee table.<p>

_It won't be her._

_It can't be her._

This constant train of thought had been plaguing Santana on a loop every since Holly had said her name. She should feel ecstatic, that would be the most logically reaction at the prospect of seeing the love of her life again. She had, after all, been waiting years for this moment; dreaming of the when's, how's, and if's. But instead of euphoria, she felt like she was going to throw up, fiddling with anything she could get her hands on. Currently it was a ballpoint pen, Santana clicking it incessantly, thankful for the closed door as she was sure it would irritate anyone within a ten-foot radius.

_It won't be her._

_I mean, there must be hundreds of Quinn's in New York, thousands even._

_That prefer Q._

_And are writers._

_For a travel paper._

_And like coffee._

_Fuck._

_What would I even say if it is?_

_Hi?_

_Because that isn't pathetic at all._

She'd spent countless hours imagining every detail of the moment when she'd see her again, but somehow she thought it would happen differently. She didn't by any means think they'd be running into each others' arms, but at least at like an ice rink, or on a train, or something a little more clichéd or romantic; not surrounded by news clippings and staplers.

_Besides, it won't be her. So all of this doesn't matter anyway._

Santana took in a calming breath and sat on the edge of her desk, facing the glass door that looked out to the stairwell where she may, or may not be entering at any moment. She dropped the pen to the tabletop and gripped her hands around the edge of the dark wood. She chose to find it ironic that after all this time the girl would once again be telling her what to do, without her having any say in the matter.

_If it's her._

_To think, we were torn apart only to be forced back together._

_Now that's irony._

_If it's her._

She couldn't take watching the stairs anymore, dropping her gaze to her black boots. Her skin was running hot and cold, the urge to put her jacket back on over her white singlet coming and going with each passing second. She forced herself to sit still and not watch the door. She couldn't imagine having to see her walk towards her. She'd rather just wait.

_If it's-_

"Hey, sorry I didn't-"

And there it was. That voice. That honey sweet voice that still made her heart race and stop all at once. She clenched her eyes shut for a split second, knowing when she raised her head that feeling of drowning would overcome her; the feeling she wished she could have escaped a thousand times.

_It's her._

After what felt like an eternity, Santana lifted her gaze to lock onto those perfect hazel eyes. They were wide with shock, the girl dropping her coffee to the ground, the hot liquid spilling over the polished wooden floor.

"Hey Quinn."

"Holy shit."

* * *

><p>Santana leant against the girl's desk as she sorted through the photos that lay on the glass counter in front of her. She was meant to be taking notes on which ones Quinn wanted for the paper, and which ones were to be disregarded, but it was safe to say that she hadn't written a single word. Instead she sat and watched as the girl took a breath, and moved one of the dozen pictures to the growing pile to her left. She didn't once take her eyes off her, Santana's gaze following her every movement.<p>

_You are so beautiful._

She let her eyes drift over Quinn's fitted tee, stopping when she reached her plain black heels. The girl's hair was a shade darker with age, but everything else was like it was, her voice, her smile, her everything. And Santana didn't want to look away. So she kept her gaze trained on Quinn until the girl caught sight of her wandering eye.

"Please don't look at me like that, it makes me uncomfortable," she muttered, her hands stilling on a photograph of a busy marketplace, a smirk stretching across Santana's face at her words. "What?" she huffed, the brunette shaking her head with her smile still in place.

"I distinctly remember you telling me once that you _loved_ the way I looked at you," Santana said, taking the few steps to stand behind her. "That it made you feel like you were the only one in the room." Quinn stayed glued to the spot, her hands hovering over the backlit counter top. "And that my smile made your heart skip a beat." Santana reached out a hand to brush her fingertips over the back of Quinn's that lay flat on the glass. "And that the touch of my han-"

"Stop okay, I get it," Quinn snapped, snatching her hand away. "Are you here just to torture me with the memory of what we had? Is this _fun_ for you?"

_Fun?_

Quinn kept her eyes on the wall in front of her, covered in unfinished articles and stray news clippings, breathing deeply as she tried to calm down from her sudden outburst. A knot started to form in Santana throat, one she did her best to swallow. It was late out, the rest of the office already gone for the day, moonlight streaming in through the high windows. The pair had been dodging this all day; in true Quinn style. It was like she was a complete stranger, keeping a safe distant from Santana most of the day, not letting herself get within arms reach. It was hard to be that close to the girl and not feel like she was allowed to touch her, or even acknowledge what they were to each other.

But as Santana watched her throughout the day, she saw glimpse of the Quinn she fell in love with. Whenever she spoke about the places in the photographs, that smile would grace her lips, and it was like her Quinn had never left. But hearing those biting words come from them stirred something within Santana; the pent up anguish and frustration. And here Quinn was spitting it back in her face, accusing her of trying to be close to her just for her own amusement.

"Fun," Santana retorted. "You think the past three years were _fun_ for me?" Quinn turned her head to the side, Santana noticing her lips pursed in a hard line. "I dreamt about you every night for like a year, by eight months I was ready to shoot myself. I can't even set foot in train stations anymore. Even the word 'roomie' brings me to tears. So no, Quinn, it hasn't been _fun_."

"Santana," Quinn breathed, turning to face her, the girl's back pressed tightly against the counter. It had been years since Santana had seen that look; it was the last one she ever saw on the blonde before she'd left that morning. That look of complete heartbreak took the dull ache and ignited it once more, thudding heavier and stronger than ever before. Santana took a steadying breath, before stepping into her and running her fingertips along her jaw, watching her shiver and her eyes flicker shut at her touch. She brushed them across her pink lips, and watched them part at their own accord. Her heart hammered in her throat as she leaned in, Quinn's breath coming out in short bursts. She was mere inches away when her hands felt the girl's protest, before her lips connected with the corner of her mouth.

"I'm with someone."

Santana exhaled heavily, leaning her forehead against the side of Quinn's neck, squeezing her eyes shut at her admission. It took all her effort to respond, not wanting to even move at this point.

"Oh."

That single syllable was all she could manage as she clenched her jaw and swallowed hard against her words. She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, tasting the blood before the she felt the sting as they broke through the delicate skin. Santana couldn't bring herself to look at Quinn, to see that mix of emotions cross her eyes. So she stayed pressed up against her, feeling the erratic thud of her heart through her black tee and under her palms that had stilled against her neck. She couldn't bring herself to do anything but breathe. Breathe in her all too familiar scent, and breathe out the sharp pain that came with it.

"His name's Michael, it's been a few months."

All this time, through all the endless scenarios she had created, and the moments she had imagined, she never counted on her finding someone else; someone she actually cared for. She ran her fingertips slowly down her neck, eliciting a faint whimper, the sound tightening the knots in her stomach as she tried to word her next question.

"Do you love him?"

Santana finally looked up into those eyes, seeing longing, sadness, regret, and then finally anger. Quinn brought her hands up and gripped her wrists, tearing them away from her neck.

"Yes, I care about him, not that it's any of your business," Quinn replied in a clipped tone. She brushed past her, leaving Santana staring dejectedly at the wall. She heard the strained squeak of her chair, and the dull thud of her dropping something to the wooden desk in frustration.

"That's not what I asked," Santana called over her shoulder, refusing to turn around. "Three years on and you still can say it, can you?"

"That's right, Santana," Quinn stated. "It's been three years. So you don't get to come back into my life, and start preaching to me about love."

The way Quinn's voice waivered on the last word tore through Santana, her hands finding the counter top for support. She stood like that for a measureless moment, Quinn sitting wordlessly behind her. The darker girl spun, grabbing her notebook, and walked back to her desk, making sure to keep her gaze from the other girl. It hurt to even look at her at this point; to imagine someone's imperfect hands touch her the way she'd longed to touch her. To have him share with Quinn what should have been hers, or rather what she _wanted _to be hers.

Santana didn't know what was worse, the constant what if's that had plagued her, or finally seeing her again and not being able to touch her; to have her here, yet not have her at all. At least before, she could imagine Quinn was somewhere missing her just as Santana had been.

This was worse.

_This isn't how it's meant to happen._

_You were meant to come back to me._

Santana stared out through the glass door at the flickering exit sign. It glowed and dimmed, her eyes transfixed by it as the thoughts of the girl not ten feet away consumed her until she felt like she was suffocating. The silence between them was maddening, it stretched on for what felt like an eternity. The only sound passing between the pair was the hum of the radiator in the back corner of the room.

"What was I meant to do?" Quinn sighed in defeat, breaking the tension. "Friend request you on Facebook?"

"It's what normal people do," Santana replied dejectedly, her eyes still on the exit sign.

"It's a two way street Santana," she digressed after a beat. "Looks like I'm not the only coward in the room."

The thought had crossed Santana's mind more than she cared to admit, even to herself. The amount of times her finger had hovered over that button; the second-guessing and the doubts that clouded her mind. But a part of her couldn't bring herself to press it. It just didn't feel right.

"I just figured if we were meant to be, then I wouldn't have to," Santana mumbled. "I stupidly thought that I'd find my way back to you. That we'd find our back to each other."

_That route just seemed a bit pathetic after everything we'd been through._

She turned her head to find Quinn staring at from across the small space, a silent tear rolling down her cheek. She took a sharp intake of breath, swiping it away as she settle her eyes back on her computer screen.

"Um, why don't you just go," she choked. "I can finish up."

Santana didn't hesitate, grabbing her bag from under her desk, needing to be out of that room and away from Quinn. She felt she hadn't be able to breathe since that morning when she'd walked back into her life. And right now it felt like an anvil was pressing down on her chest, and putting distance between them right now seemed like her only option.

"I guess you were wrong."

"About what?" Santana murmured.

She was paused with her hand on the door, just wanting it to be over. She just wanted to crawl up in bed next to Brittany, and just forget that today ever happened. To pretend that the girl in front of her, the girl that used make her feel alive was still in love with her, and pretend there was still hope for them.

"Serendipity."

"That's funny," Santana deadpanned, finally bringing her eyes up to Quinn's. "Kate Beckinsale was actually happy when they found their way back, though."

"San-"

"Bright and early?" Santana taunted with ferment. "_Boss_."

She didn't wait for a response before slamming the door shut, the glass rattling against the jamb.


	10. II: Please Remember Us

Long fingers combed through her dark hair, the soft morning light making her swollen eyes sting. She reached out a cautionary hand, only to connect with warm skin and a tight embrace. It took Santana a moment to find her bearings as she blinked the haze from her vision, the arm pulling her closer. Her body slid across the light blue sheets, comforting her as memories from the previous night came rushing to the forefront of her mind, sending a throbbing just behind her eyes.

_She's back._

"Morning," Santana croaked.

"Hey."

Brittany's soft voice filled the open room, her free hand tracing soothing patterns across her exposed skin. Santana had thought she'd seen the last of this; her crying and dishevelled, and Brittany acting as her rock. She couldn't quiet remember the last time she'd woken up in this state; it must have been months. But every time she did, she'd wake up feeling worse than before. It had become a routine, so much so that Santana had stopped questioning it when she woke up in the girl's bed, strong arms snaked around her middle. Brittany would never say a word; she'd just pull back her covers and hold her close until the tears ran their course. But something told Santana that this morning would be different.

Brittany sat up, leaning her back against the wall behind her bed and pulled Santana's head into her lap, those fingers continuing to drag through her hair. Santana could tell when Brittany wanted to say something; she would get unusually quiet, thoughtful somehow. Santana buried her face into her friend's cotton shorts, bracing herself against whatever was coming.

"Puck called."

A lump formed in Santana's throat at the mention of the man's name, Brittany sensing her sudden change. The girl shifted beneath Santana, before dropping her black iPhone to the bed beside her, the slim object bouncing across the mattress.

"I told him to go fuck himself," she stated calmly.

Santana could feel her lips pull up at her words despite herself. The only time Santana ever heard her friend swear was when she was referring to him. There had always been something about Puck that got right under Brittany's skin. Santana didn't pretend to know what that was, and never dared to ask; afraid of the answer. She didn't like to think of Brittany in any way other than that girl who came to her house scared and upset when they were fifteen. Or the girl that had lain back on her trampoline in her backyard, watching the sky and forgetting the days.

"Thanks," she mumbled into Brittany's tiny bed shorts.

"You want to talk about it?"

Santana sucked in a deep breath, her smile dropping from her face. The image of Quinn beneath her fingertips, of her being so close crossed behind her closed lids as she squeezed them shut against the assault. The lump only got worse when she remembered the look on her face just before she stormed out; that look of complete and utter helplessness. It was one she couldn't bear to see on the face she loved. But Santana didn't feel like she had the right to fix it anymore; she wasn't hers.

So she walked away.

"She's back."

"Quinn?"

Brittany's tone was weary, probably wondering if the word was still taboo. But Santana nodded slowly, brushing her hand gently up her thigh to let her know it was okay; that hearing that word out loud wasn't going to reduce her to tears.

"She's my boss," Santana laughed humourlessly.

Brittany stayed silent, waiting for her to continue, her fingers still absently playing with her fringe. Santana swallowed hard and wrapped her arms tightly around the blonde's legs, needing the security that always came with being close to her. Her brain mulled over all the words they had exchanged; those empty and bitter words. But there were three that stuck out among the rest that had her blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

"She's with someone else."

She let out a ragged breath at the pain saying those words out loud brought. Endless scenarios ran through her mind; all the times she should have done something, _anything_. She never thought it would ever be too late for them. She held on to the hope that one day they would find each other, and that everything would be as it were, as if she never left.

_She promised forever._

But a part of her knew she was kidding herself, no one promises forever after only seventeen days. They were nineteen. They'd met too young, and said goodbye too soon.

"Do you want me to kick her ass for you?" Brittany jested, breaking Santana out of her reverie.

"Him."

_Michael._

His name, even in thought, left a bitter taste in her mouth. She could just picture him, perfect yet completely flawed at the same time. But everyone was flawed when they stood next to her.

She was perfect.

Santana dug her short nails into Brittany's soft skin, the girl not seeming to notice, letting her vent her anger. Anger at imagining his hands on her skin, and his lips dragging down her neck; it made her feel ill. She brought a hand up to wipe at a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"You know what the really fucked up part is?" Santana mused bitterly. "We never actually broke up. So whatever it is that we are, or _were_-"

Santana stopped, not able to finish her sentence. Using the past tense sent a sharp pain shooting through her chest and had her nails dig further into soft thigh until she was sure that it was hurting her friend. But Brittany stayed silent, leaning down to press her lips to the side of her head.

"Are you going to quit?"

Even before she had finished, Santana was shaking her head. Just the thought of leaving her again was too much to handle. She was stuck in this never-ending cycle. In a tunnel that she wasn't sure there was a light at the end of, but one she had no desire of escaping.

"As hard as it is to be around her," Santana began. "I promised myself a long time ago that I would never say goodbye again."

_I love her too much._

* * *

><p>"Damage report," Holly announced around a sip of coffee. "She cracked the whip yet?"<p>

Santana sat on the couch opposite Holly's cluttered desk, the woman sporting a devilish grin. There had always been something intriguing and full of life about Holly; Santana guessed that's why she jumped at the chance to work for her.

"Not yet," Santana smiled, taking a bite of chocolate muffin.

Santana was never one for big dreams. After a stint in community college, just one more thing she'd done to piss off her parents, she had packed up and moved to New York with Brittany without so much as a backward glance. But it wasn't until Holly walked into her bar that night three weeks ago that she finally felt like she was going to do something worthwhile with her life.

She'd always felt comfortable talking to her old substitute, ever since junior year. Back in high school, she was the only adult figure in her life that had guided her through the rough times she'd faced with her sexuality, and her parents and all their bullshit.

So while Holly got drunk, Santana talked.

She talked about her life after high school.

About her toxic relationship with Puck.

About Quinn.

_Endlessly_ Quinn.

As soon as she opened her mouth, she wasn't able to stop, words and memories pouring out of her. It was still too hard to say her name out loud, but she did recount those seventeen days, and how she'd met the love of her life. It was invigorating at the time to finally talk about it with someone who wouldn't judge, or coddle her.

"I thought bartenders where meant to listen to _my_ problems," Holly had jested, taking a swig of beer.

After Santana took a much needed shot of tequila, she'd told her she was all ears, Holly going on to tell her about a woman she'd met in London. She'd had the idea of starting up a paper, a traveller's guide of sorts to those who didn't want to stay in one place too long. Holly was all for it, wanting to settle into something that kept her on the go; a travel paper seemed like the perfect fit. Problem was they were launching in less than a month and the woman wanted an assistant that could handle Holly's special brand of crazy, and she'd been shit out of luck finding one.

When Holly spoke of this woman, about her passion and sense of adventure, Santana's mind went to Quinn. She never even entertained the idea that this woman and Quinn were one in the same. As Holly vented, Santana was again brought back to those seventeen days, and to a time when she had felt that free as well. She missed that feeling, the one she got when Quinn had opened her eyes to something new. A part of Santana wondered if that feeling came from being away from all that she knew, or if it was just Quinn.

So she took the job. Wanting, _needing_ that feeling again.

"Holly, have you seen-"

Santana turned her head to where Quinn was standing in the doorway, pausing when she caught sight of her. She locked eyes with her briefly, her expression unreadable, before clearing her throat and jerking her head toward her office. With a sigh, Santana got up from the couch and made to follow Quinn out of the room.

"Santana," Holly called out, the brunette turning her head to see the woman making a whipping gesture. "_Whoopish_." Santana scrunched up her now empty wrapper and hurled it at her, Holly only smirking back innocently.

_You are so not helping._

When Santana had arrived at work that morning, she half expected Quinn to avoid her, those bitter words still fresh in her mind. But as she entered Quinn's office, those eyes had locked onto hers with that longing she remembered so well, and it tore right through her. It sent the ache in her chest into overdrive, and had her swallowing down the pain that always came with it. The girl returned her gaze to her computer after a moment, her expression once again becoming void of emotion.

_Why do you keep torturing me like this?_

The door fell shut behind them, the chatter from the rest of the studio cut short. Quinn leant on the edge of her desk, her eyes on the floor. She took in a steadying breath, before speaking with slight hesitation.

"So, this party next Friday for the launch," she began, chewing on her bottom lip. "Do you have someone that you want to, umm…it's just since I'm in charge of the guest list, I thought I'd ask if your-"

A knot formed in Santana's stomach, getting tighter the more Quinn spoke, hurt and a slight trepidation lacing her tone. She kept her eyes distant as Santana watched her carefully. She really didn't want to let Quinn know she was seeing Puck, but what was the point in hiding it. It would just cause more pain keeping it from her, on Santana's side at least. Quinn began to shake her head dismissively and heaved an aggravated sigh.

"No," Santana answered after a beat. "He's not really the attending type."

_Or even the give a shit type._

"_He?_"

Those eyes pulled up to hers, surprise mixed in with the sadness that seemed to come hand in hand with her now. Santana must have had a bemused expression on her face, Quinn quickly correcting herself.

"It's just that always thought you were," Quinn trailed off, a slight flush colouring her cheeks.

_A raging lesbian?_

"I tried dating girls, but-"

"But what?" Quinn asked before she could stop herself.

_Don't do that._

The look on her face cut clean through Santana, like the reasoning behind it mattered to her. It made being in the same room as Quinn unbearably hard. But she had been honest with her up until this point, why stop now? So Santana stole herself, before she pulled her eyes up to Quinn's, wanting to see every emotion that crossed that face when she answered her.

"I tried, but I wouldn't stop comparing them to you."

"Oh."

Quinn's face went pale, no longer able to look Santana in the eye. Her breaths became shorter as she gripped the edge of the desk, her skin straining across her knuckles. Santana could practically hear the gears turning, watching those eyes flick across the polished floors.

_You're regretting asking me now, aren't you?_

Truthfully, Santana had never wanted to date anyone else; Puck was just something she had fallen into. A distraction. But that didn't stop the girls from sliding their numbers across the bar every night. And every time she convinced herself to just call one of them, she would start to think of all the things they wouldn't be. Of all the things they could _never_ be. Things that only Quinn was. They wouldn't smell the same, or feel the same. They wouldn't laugh in the same way, or be able make her ache just by being in the same room as her.

_They weren't you._

"Will _Michael_ be there?" Santana asked just to fill the silence, his name like acid on her tongue.

"Um, yeah, he will," Quinn mumbled, before her eyes went wide. Santana didn't have time to question her reaction when long arms slipped around her waist and playful teeth grazed her neck, sending chills down her back and an uncontrollable grin across her face.

_Thank God._

"Did someone say party?" Brittany chirped in her ear, giving her a tight squeeze.

"And that would be my date," Santana shot back, receiving a giggle from the bubbly blonde. "What's up?"

"Na-thing," the girl drawled.

She was so caught up in Brittany's bubble that she'd only just noticed Quinn regarding the two of them curiously, Santana realizing she didn't actually know who Brittany was. Sure, she'd spoken about her almost daily, but she'd never even shown Quinn a photo of her best friend.

"Oh, Quinn, this is Brittany," she stated, resting her arms on top of the taller girl's.

Realization crossed over Quinn's face, Brittany giving her a genuine smile. Quinn returned it, but it didn't reach her eyes as they stared back at her, clouded and tinged with something she couldn't quiet place. Santana was brought back to when they visited the Schnapps Museum in Vienna. Back to when the girl had had the exact same reaction at the mention of the blonde.

"Best friend and roommate," Brittany chimed in.

"Roommate," Quinn repeated, shifting her gaze between the two.

_Is that…jealousy?_

"Mmhmm," Brittany hummed, oblivious to the obvious tension in the room. "So listen," she said, turning her full attention to Santana. "My class finished early, so I thought I would take you to lunch." Santana kept her eyes on Quinn, her expression still lucid, though she forced a smile when Brittany turned to address her. "If that's okay with you?"

"Yeah," she choked out. "That's fine."

"Rach is going to meet us there."

"Really?" Santana whined. "Berry's coming?"

"Wait, you know Rachel Berry?" Quinn asked, her eyebrows close to her hairline. "_The_ Rachel Berry?"

"Yeah, but don't tell her that," Brittany replied with chuckle. "Or we'll never hear the end of it."

Brittany exited the room and left the pair alone, letting the door swing shut. Santana walked the few steps to grab her bag, shouldering it, before turning back to Quinn. She still had her eyes on the floor as she leant against her desk.

"I'll be back soon."

"She's gorgeous," Quinn commented just as she reached for the door. Santana pulled back to see her smile sadly, her eyes brimming. "You never mentioned that."

Quinn wiped a stray tear that had fallen down her cheek, forcing another smile. She turned her back to Santana, gathering the papers that cluttered her desk. She had the strongest urge to close the space between them and slide her arms around her. She didn't know where this was coming from, or why it was making her upset, and that killed her. But it wasn't her place anymore, and that hurt even worse.

_She is, but even Brittany couldn't hold a candle to you._

* * *

><p>"So, when do I get to see a picture of the girl that turned Santana Lopez into a crying mess? Which is quite a feat I might add."<p>

Rachel pulled off her sunglasses and rested them on the table, running her fingers through her hair. Santana rolled her eyes, the tiny brunette bringing a sautéed string bean to her mouth and taking a lazy bite. To say that Rachel had changed from the girl she was in high school was the understatement to end all others. The girl sitting across from her actually had style, turning heads every time she'd walk down the street. Not to mention quite a few more zeroes to the end of her name.

_Who'd have thought?_

With a huff, Santana reluctantly unlocked her iPhone and passed it to her, watching as her friend caught her first glimpse of Quinn.

"Wow," Rachel breathed, her eyes widening. "Well, I see why you're crying into your pillow every night. I would be too if I lost a girl that."

_Twist the knife harder, Berry. It's just starting to feel good._

Santana gritted her teeth and swallowed down her retort; not wanting to risking being on the cover of _Us Weekly_ for strangling Broadway's newest star. Rachel pulled her fingers over the screen to zoom in on the photo that she had taken of her at Prater. Quinn had her mouth open in something kin to euphoria as the ride they were on had come to a stop. Her hair was awry, and her eyes shone with the lights of the fair ground; she was beautiful.

"That's enough," Santana snapped, making a grab for the phone. Rachel chuckled and held it just out of her reach, only for Brittany to pluck it easily from her grasp and hand it back to her friend. Santana smiled in appreciation, pocketing her phone deep in her jeans.

"Okay, you _have_ to take me to this party."

"What, no," Santana retorted. "Absolutely not."

_Never going to happen._

"Santana, you're not going to make that girl jealous if you bring Puckerman, if anything she will just be turned off by your severe lack of taste and standards."

"Whereas bringing you will have her falling at my feet," Santana deadpanned. "Besides, who said anything about wanting to make her jealous?"

Santana remembered the look on her face after Brittany had left not even half an hour ago. It was one she never wanted to see on that face ever again. And to knowingly cause that was just too much for Santana to take; the mere thought brought a lump to her throat.

"It's cruel," she muttered as an afterthought, forking a pillow of Ravioli and bringing it to her lips.

"Seriously?" Rachel implored, reaching her hand out and brushing it over Santana's. "What's cruel is her dragging you through fire and ice, all the while getting to go home to her boyfriend."

Santana pushed down the anger and the visual that those words brought, opening her mouth to respond, to say anything in Quinn's defence. But Rachel had a point, and she knew it. It wasn't fair what Quinn was doing to her. If she had half a heart she would have fired her as soon as she'd walked through that door. But nothing about their relationship was ever fair.

"So it's settled then. Pick me up at eight."

_Fuck._

* * *

><p>A heavy arm slumped across her shoulders and pulled her in, as a rough hand dropped to her thigh. Santana took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the feeling of those hands on her skin making her stomach churn; they weren't the hands she wanted. They were big and careless, and just felt wrong as they slid further up her thigh, gripping roughly. Lips dragged across her exposed neck, Santana unconsciously leaning away and averting her gaze.<p>

"What's the matter?"

_You're not her._

"Nothing, I'm fine," Santana dismissed. "I'm just not in the mood."

The man let out an aggravated sigh and leant his head against the back of the couch. Santana kept her eyes on the TV in front of them, crossing her arms over her chest as some late night talk show hummed lowly on the screen.

"Has this got something to do with Brittany telling me to go fuck myself?" Puck asked with a huff. "Which I had to do by the way, since you wouldn't answer your damn phone."

Santana set her jaw, fighting off the ache that shot across shoulders. She shuffled ever so slightly across the couch and shook off his arm, the glow from the TV illuminating her spacious living room. Brittany had her door closed across the hall, but Santana could see the artificial light seeping through the small crack underneath it.

"No, I'm just tired is all."

Rachel's words were still running on a loop, plaguing her already confused thoughts. She felt sick to her stomach even considering doing that to Quinn, the girl was already so conflicted. She wanted Quinn back so badly, but to hurt her in the process wasn't something Santana wanted; it was the exact opposite. But when she thought of having to sit at that bar while Michael danced and laughed with her, kissed her; she didn't think she could face that alone.

_When did things get so fucked up?_

"So this launch thing-"

"Actually, I'll be working most of the night," Santana interrupted before he could finish. "So, I'm just going to go by myself."

_Please don't push it._

"That's cool, babe," he shrugged. "I got a gig downtown that night, anyways."

_Of course you do._

"I'm just going to go to bed," Santana sighed, getting up from the couch and making a start for her room.

"I'll be there in a minute."

Santana paused mid stride and turned back to look at the man still lounging lazily on the love seat. He kept his eyes on the TV, looking the epitome of unaffected. The countless times she told him to leave, that whatever it is that they had was over was staggering. But she was stuck in this vicious cycle of always letting him back in whenever she was at her lowest; she needed saving.

"Whatever," she muttered as she crossed the living room and opened her bedroom door. She walked into her ensuite and gripped the sink with both hands. She looked at her reflection, the person staring back at her almost a stranger. There were dark circles under her eyes, making her look tired beyond her years.

And she was.

She was just so sick and tired of where she was right now. Not just with Puck, but with everything. How did she let it get this far? She just wanted it to be three years ago, before they said goodbye. She just wanted to stop time and go back to a place where she was happy and in love, and everything was simple.

But it never had been simple.

Santana was longing for something that never existed for her.

_I just want to live in a dream._

_One where we're together and happy._

* * *

><p>"Q, you don't have that guest list handy, do you?"<p>

Holly glanced up from her computer with an expectant set to her blue eyes. Santana was sitting next to Quinn on the worn leather couch opposite the tall blonde, trying her best to pay attention to what was being said. But as the girl uncrossed her legs to flip through her pile of notes, Santana's train of thought went out the window as her leg brushed up against her own. She dug her nails into her jeans, doing her best to act indifferent even though it felt like she was dying inside. A part of her just wanted to create as much distance between them as possible, but she knew that it was pointless.

_It doesn't matter if you're an inch or a mile from me, you still manage to get under my skin._

"I must have left it in my office," Quinn shrugged, standing up from the couch. "I'll just be a sec-"

"Sit, I'll grab it," Santana stated a little more forceful than she intended, needing any excuse to put space between them, even for just a moment.

"You sure?" she asked sceptically, already part way across the room.

"It's what you pay me for, Quinn."

_Not that I wouldn't do just about anything for you if you weren't._

"Thanks, it should be in my top drawer on the right."

Santana got to her feet and brushed past Quinn on her way out of Holly's office, shaking off that feeling that spread across her skin with even the simplest of touches. The mid-morning atmosphere in the main studio was buzzing, the light pulse of music and friendly chatter meeting her ears as she crossed the small space.

Letting the door fall shut, she wandered behind the dark wooden desk, pulling open the top right drawer to find a mess of papers, along with a pile of photographs decorated with post-its of Quinn's random musings. She rifled through them, landing on the list of names and taking it, before absently straightening the remaining stack of papers. She was about to close the drawer, her hand on the tarnished metal, when a corner of brown caught her eye. Pushing aside a travel brochure, her fingertips brushed over a familiar worn cover, her eyes going wide.

_Holy shit._

Santana's heart began to race as she lifted out the journal, her hand trembling slightly as she placed it carefully on the desk. It was exactly as she remembered it, if a little darker with age. She dropped the list she was still holding and ran her fingers along the spine, debating with herself whether she should go any further. It was completely wrong on so many levels, and a gross invasion of Quinn's privacy. But as she began to flick through its weathered pages, she couldn't bring herself to stop, having spent years dreaming of what else laid beyond its bound cover. Her eyes flinted over line after line of neat cursive, a part of her forcing herself not to take in the words, still unsure of whether she wanted to read them, or shove it back in the drawer and forget she ever found it.

_This is so wrong._

_I shouldn't be doing this._

Her fingers paused on a page that was brittle but delicate to the touch, the paper warped in places, causing it to stick out amongst the rest. The ink had run in blotches all down the page, Santana not able to make out much of the writing. The one part she was able to read was the date in the top corner, Santana being able to remember that day like it was yesterday. It was the day Quinn had gotten on the train.

_May 21st._

_The day she left._

Her heart hammered painfully in her chest as she ran her fingers over the ridges in the paper, knowing that only one thing could have caused the page to distort like this. Taking a deep breath and ridding her mind of the visual, she continued to flip through the notebook, knowing the remaining pages would most likely be blank. But as she turned the page, she couldn't help but take in the words that were written in dark foreboding ink. A lump formed in Santana's throat as she began to read, the realization dawning on her of when Quinn would had to have written this. It was almost painful to look at, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as she skimmed down the page, reading every other word.

_**I had to force myself not to look at her...**_

_Breathe._

…_**the feeling of those lips when they touched my skin still felt like it always did…**_

_Just breathe._

…_**I feel like crying, but that wouldn't fix those three long years we were apart.**_

"Santana, what is taking you-"

The question died on Quinn's lips as her gaze flicked to the open journal, then up to Santana, her hand still on the door. Her eyes were wide with shock, Santana's hand hovering over the page as she opened her mouth to explain. But the words were stuck on her tongue, the pained expression on the girl's face rendering any rebuttal that she had prepared useless.

"That's private," Quinn exclaimed as she crossed the room and placed a firm hand on the notebook, the cover snapping shut. It took Santana a moment to find her voice, her gaze never moving from Quinn; that mix of pain and sadness crossing her guarded eyes as they looked at anything but her.

"You forget that I already know what's in it."

Quinn let out a strangled breath and dropped her head, moving between her and the desk to return the journal. But as she brushed past her, that ache flared again, setting Santana's nerves alight. And instead of shying away from it, Santana reached out and grabbed her wrist, halting Quinn's movements.

"Santana, don't," Quinn breathed in defeat, still not meeting her eye. She pulled against her, but the brunette only tightened her hold, ignoring the voice in her head screaming at her to let go. Scared hazel eyes pulled up to hers, Santana sliding her fingertips down Quinn's wrist and lacing her fingers gently through hers. The blonde turned her head away at the soft touch, no longer fighting her as she stood routed to the spot, taking in shallow breaths.

Santana didn't know whether Quinn was scared or angry at her daring advances, or if it was just her touch that made her lip tremble and her hand shake beneath her own. She kept her eyes downcast, Santana moving both their hands up between them to settle just above the scoop of her V-neck, and just over her heart. It hammered heavily under Quinn's fingers. The feeling of her soft skin against Santana's palm was maddening as they splayed out across her chest. That feeling sent chills over Santana's skin. Being this close to her again and this intimate had that sensation of drowning she knew so well wash over her, and numbing her other senses. But she pushed through the haze that the touch brought, needing Quinn, needing her to remember what they once were. What they still are.

_Please remember us._

"Quinn, look at me," Santana murmured, the other girl reluctantly meeting her eye. "Why are you fighting this?"

"We had a _fling_. It's time you grew up."

It wasn't the way her voice waivered on her words, or even the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of Santana's hand still pressing tightly to Quinn's. It was that flicker that danced across her eyes that had Santana's heart beating wildly under the girl's fingers, and the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

_She's still here._

"You were always two things, Q," Santana said as she took a step closer, the girl inhaling sharply at their proximity. "Cheap."

_And there was that laugh._

It washed over her and gave Santana the courage to do what she did next, knowing that she was going to either sink or swim with her next move. She stole herself the last few seconds of clarity, letting the hand that covered Quinn's drop to sit just above her waist. Quinn kept her palm resting against Santana's chest, those eyes following her every move. With one last breath, Santana slowly brought her other hand up between them to rest over the girl's heart, mirroring Quinn's. Her fingertips brushed across her exposed skin above her singlet, her eyes falling shut.

"Please," Quinn whimpered with a small shake of her head.

She could feel the erratic thrum under her fingers as she leaned in, grazing her nose with her own. Quinn let out sigh at the touch, her lips unconsciously parting and ready. Santana had to use all her willpower not to just close the distance and steal what was rightful hers. But she held her ground, whispering hotly against those perfect lips.

"And a _terrible_ liar."

Her words hung in the air between them as she pulled back, Quinn's eyes snapping open when she could no longer feel the anticipated touch of Santana's lips. She let her hand drop, tearing her eyes away from dazed hazel as they blinked back into focus. Santana retrieved the list of names from Quinn's desk, and held it up for her to take.

"Holly's probably wondering where we are," she chimed innocently, before leaving her completely breathless.

* * *

><p>"And if you could just sign here, please?"<p>

The balding man held out the tablet for Santana to mark, the overpowering smell of sweat coming off him in waves. She smiled politely at him as he clipped the metal pencil back to the device and handed her the padded envelope he was holding.

"Thanks," she murmured, the man nodding and turning to head back down the stairs.

Santana flipped the package over, Holly's name scribbled across the front in messy cursive with a large airmail stamp covering the address. She heard heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell in front of her, Santana tearing her gaze away from the parcel in her hands to be met with a tall, rather well dressed man, with short wavy hair. He was peering around her into the apartment, his brown eyes skimming over the small crowd inside.

"Can I help you?"

His head snapped at the sound of her voice, seeming to only just notice her standing in the open doorway. He eyed her up and down, before a wide smile stretched across his boyish face, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

"Yes, I'm looking for Quinn Fabray."

_British?_

_I hate you already._

Santana leant against the doorframe, taking in his clean-cut appearance. He looked like a walking Banana Republic commercial, and the overwhelming scent of his cologne wasn't helping her first impression of him in the slightest.

"I'm her assistant," Santana replied curtly. "Who may I say is asking?"

"I'm her boyfriend, Michael."

_Yep, definitely don't like you._

"Oh," she muttered, swallowing down the anger that simply word brought. "This way."

Santana turned and walked back into the studio, not bothering to check if he was following; part of her was praying that he wasn't. But sure enough she heard the pretentious click of his heels on the polish wooden floors as she made her way across the room. She neared her glass office door, Quinn's eyes on her computer screen when she entered.

"Hey Quinn, your-"

The word got stuck on her lips as a wave of nausea churned her stomach. Quinn looked up at her in confusion, waiting for her to explain further.

"Michael is here," she forced out after a beat, cocking her head out into the hall. Recognition washed over her face as he came into view, striding over to her desk. Santana couldn't bear to watch, turning away when he leant in for a kiss. She bit down on the inside of her cheek as her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. When she looked back up from her spot in the doorway, he had his arm around her shoulder, his eyes drifting around the room. However Quinn's eyes were on her, and as usual were completely unreadable; that mix of sadness and regret crossing over them. She had never looked more conflicted, the look causing the ache to travel up her back and across her shoulders until she was bracing herself against the open door.

"So, how did you guys meet?"

Santana didn't take her eyes off Quinn as she strained to keep her voice even. The girl opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated when Santana reached up a hand to wipe at her cheeks, the pre-sting of tears pulling at the corner of her eyes.

_That was meant to be me._

"Um-"

"We worked together in London up until a year ago," he enthused, gazing adoringly at Quinn as she smiled awkwardly back. "And then a few months back, I was in town for a travel expo and ran into this one, and kind of never left."

_You've got to be shitting me._

"I guess that's serendipity for you," he added with a smile.

_I think I'm going to be sick._

* * *

><p><strong>I have created a downloadable playlist for part one. The link is under my description on my tumblr – atigerindenim.<strong>

**Oh, and just to let you guys know, Michael looks like the actor, Julian Morris.**


	11. II: Wherever You Will Go

Santana brought her Jack and Coke to her lips, and took a generous sip, welcoming the faint burn of the whiskey as it slid down her throat and warmed her stomach. It momentarily cleared her mind as she took in a deep breath and swirled the remaining ice cubes around her glass. An infectious dance beat pumped out of the speakers, and the alcohol ran through her system, but they only served as distractions from the girl sitting fifty feet away, _his_ arm wrapped around her waist. Running a hand through her loose curls, she leant her elbows on the railing in front of her as people pushed by, all of them trying to be heard above the music.

The blonde was sitting next to Holly in a booth as reporters from radio and various websites sat with them, casually asking questions. The off-white lace dress Quinn wore had her perfect almond eyes almost glowing in the dim light of the club. Even from across the room, Santana could see that smile she always got whenever she spoke of the world and her writing; it was her favourite on her. It would light up her whole face, so much so that others couldn't help but be transfixed, unable to look away.

But every now and then, Quinn would lean into Michael's embrace, a very different smile stretching across those lips; a smile that had Santana gripping her glass tighter as she watched from the raised landing across the other side of the bar. A stranger would look upon them, and say that they were a happy couple, that the smile she wore was one of happiness and love.

But Santana knew better.

It was one that had no life, and didn't reach her eyes. It was one she'd held for the past two weeks, ever since they came back into each other's lives, and ever since _he_ showed up at the studio. It sent a lump to Santana's throat, knowing that all she could do was stand back and watch the girl she loved pretend to love somebody else.

"Do you ever _not_ stare at her?"

The jesting voice to her right cut through the music and drew her concentration away from the couple. Santana heaved a sigh and turned toward Rachel who was watching her expectantly, a small smirk hinting at her lips. Santana leant her chin on her palm and raised both eyebrows, looking at the tiny brunette pointedly until she chuckled and rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean," she digressed, leaning backwards against the railing, smiling at people as they passed.

"This is fun for you, isn't it?" Santana said, looking back at Quinn. "Seeing me in _your_ shoes for once."

_Seeing me want something too much._

"Are you referring to someone finally making you feel something up here, rather than just down there?" Rachel teased, placing a mocking hand over her heart, before sliding it lower.

Santana took the last sip of her drink, Rachel continuing to smirk at her as she nudged her playfully. She let out a breath, a smile pulling across her lips at her friend's words. Rachel was right. Santana never believed in the possibility of love in high school. People like Rachel who yearned for that idealistic notion of love, most of the time in the wrong place, she thought of as delusional and naïve. She never believed in a love like this; one that made you feel as if you were drowning, taking with it the desire and will to breathe.

_And now I've become like Rachel._

_One of the delusional._

"Your shoes hurt."

"The cutest ones always do," Rachel quipped back, placing a reassuring hand on her forearm. Santana dropped her gaze, no longer able to look at the two of them without wanting to scream, or worse.

Before he showed up that day, it was easy for Santana to pass him off as a faceless object that was just in the way of them being together. A blimp on Santana's radar that she knew would disappear as soon as she got Quinn to open her eyes. But now that this man had a face, and very real presence, it became harder to just pass him off. Santana now knew the hands that laced through Quinn's and wrapped around her waist at night. And when her thoughts would wander to those hands and their bodies, Santana would feel that ache thud heavily in her chest, and her hands go for her phone.

It surprised Santana when Rachel picked up instead of Brittany, not even making a conscious decision to do so. Brittany had been her rock for so long that even the thought of talking to someone else was a shock in itself. But Rachel knew what she was going through; she'd been burned before. Something that her best friend was yet to go through.

_And I'd hate to be the person who does._

After she'd ended the call, Rachel had shown up an hour later at the studio. Santana had told her not to, but being Rachel, she didn't listen, walking straight up to Quinn and introducing herself. And just like she said, Quinn's eyes turned a different shade of green. They were still clouded and unreadable, but Santana could see it in the way she would flick her eyes between the pair as Rachel sat on the edge of her desk; it had worked, and Santana felt sick because of it. She knew Rachel only had good intentions, but it didn't make it any less hard to see that sadness and regret glimmer in Quinn's eyes as she kept her gaze on her computer and away from Santana.

"What am I going to do?" she asked, helpless and defeated. It hurt to even look at Quinn now. It never used to be that way. Those eyes used to make her heart race, and her skin used to tingle with just her touch. Now everything was just so screwed up, and she didn't even know how to begin to fix it.

_It shouldn't be like this._

"First of all, you're going to stop staring at her," Rachel told her firmly, taking the empty glass from Santana's hand and placing it down on the table next to them.

"Then what?"

Santana didn't move her eyes from Quinn as she appeared to laugh at something one of the reporters had said.

She looked so happy.

"And _then_," Rachel enunciated carefully, trying to break through Santana's Quinn-induced haze. "You're going to buy me a drink."

* * *

><p>"One Cosmo, and a Jack and Coke, please?"<p>

Santana leant her elbows against the black lacquered counter, the bartender nodding before reaching for two glasses from the wire rack. Rachel stood next to her with a wide grin, grabbing a straw from the dispenser in front of her. Santana wasn't entirely sure if this was part of Rachel's plan, or if the girl just wanted a free drink. But as the tiny brunette took the first sip of her cocktail, her eyes went wide and she begun frantically jerking her head toward something just out of Santana's view.

"What?" Santana asked, her brow knitting together in confusion. Rachel didn't answer, only continuing to stare at her expectantly, before sighing in aggravation and turning away. She was about to ask her where she was going when that voice reached her ear, and had her clenching her jaw against the sudden rush of anger that shot up her back, Santana realizing what Rachel was trying to tell her.

"Santana, right?"

_Perfect._

The brunette grabbed her drink that had just been placed down in front of her, smiling meekly around a mouthful of whiskey as she passed a fifty to the bartender. Michael leant his weight against the counter top, making small talk as he waited to be served.

"Quinn's told me a lot about you."

She could barely look at him without wanting to strangle him with his knitted pullover. Everything about Michael screamed Momma's Boy. But it wasn't his perfectly gelled hair, or his immaculately ironed collar. It was the fact that he got her moment. The moment she'd been waiting three years for. He got the slow-motion run, and the eye contact across the crowded room. He got her serendipity. And if it weren't for this somewhat pompous man standing before her, Quinn would be with _her,_ not him.

_You stole that from me._

"She has?"

Santana strained to keep her voice level as she searched uselessly for where Rachel had gone, still not believing that she'd just walked off.

_I'm going to kill her._

She skimmed her eyes over the thousand strong crowd, some dancing while others were chatting amongst themselves in booths against the wall. But the girl was nowhere to be seen, Santana turning back to the bar with a sigh as Michael smiled at her, a tall redheaded woman taking his order.

"A Vodka and Lime, and a Heineken, please," he told her, before turning back to Santana. "Yeah, she told me you met her just before I did."

_Which means I saw her first, you prick._

She took a large mouthful of her drink, trying to keep her emotions in check, wanting nothing more than to throw it in his perfectly manicured face.

"Told me it was the best three weeks of her life."

Santana choked, grabbing a napkin and bringing it to her mouth.

_I'm sorry, what?_

Santana's heart thudded nervously as she tried to gain control of the coughing fit she was currently having. But Michael didn't seem to notice her reaction at all, staring blankly at the wall behind the bar that was lined with bottles of wine and other spirits. Santana took a deep breath, wondering just how much she'd told him about those three weeks.

"I suppose I should be jealous, shouldn't I?"

_Oh God, she told him._

"About?"

Santana snapped her head to the sound of that angelic voice that still made her heart skip, which was something she was glad hadn't changed. She could deal with her eyes and her touch being painful, but her voice was something she didn't think she could bear. Quinn placed a hand on Michael's back, before switching her gaze hesitantly to Santana. The darker girl scrunched the napkin tightly in her fist and took a deep breath around the sudden urge to flee under that gaze.

"The two of you," Michael clarified. "Backpacking through Europe at nineteen."

Quinn smiled nervously at him as the woman placed his drinks down on the counter, Michael handing her a twenty. Santana watched carefully as her eyes flicked back to her, the look in them clearly saying that she hadn't told him anything beyond just that. And as the redhead returned with Michael's change, Santana wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or not at her wordless admission.

_Why would you keep us a secret?_

"Well, you have a good night," he bade, before taking Quinn by the hand and leading her away from the bar. Santana watched her go, feeling Rachel saddle up beside her just as Quinn disappeared into the crowd.

"He seems nice."

"Nice?" Santana spat, turning on her fully. "_Nice?_"

"What?" she shrugged innocently.

"Oh, I don't know," she deadpanned, ferment lacing her tone. "How about he seems like a pretentious asshole San, you have nothing to worry about. Or hey, what about not _abandoning_ me when said asshole corners me at the bar."

"Technically he didn't corner you, since the bar's straigh-" Rachel began, but stopped once she caught the look on Santana face.

"As wingmen go, you suck."

* * *

><p>"Did you see his hands?" Rachel exclaimed. "<em>Tiny<em>. He probably doesn't even register."

Rachel held up her right pinky in front of Santana and wiggled it with a grin. She let out a chuckle at the girl's attempt at cheering her up, placing a hand over hers and bringing it to the table in front of them.

"You can stop now," Santana told her, a small smile on her lips. She removed her hand and brought it back to her drink, absently nudging the melting ice cubes with her finger.

Rachel had been listing off Michael's shortcomings ever since they'd moved away from the bar half an hour ago. They were now sitting next to each other in a circular booth away from the party, Rachel doing her best to get Santana to smile. And it was working, Santana biting both her lips to force them not to quirk up with every jesting word her friend would say. The girl had managed to make her forget, even for a moment, about the blonde that was standing over the other side of the bar, most likely with _him_. Laughing with him, dancing with him, and doing something else with him that she forced her mind not to think about.

With Rachel, Santana didn't have to think. She didn't have to work to see behind her eyes, or beneath the surface; it was already there. She hid nothing, and it was the break Santana needed. When she looked into Rachel's eyes she saw happiness not a clouded void, not confusion or contempt.

_But they aren't the hazel I fell in love with._

In another life, one where she never went to Europe and never met Quinn, Santana would have found love with someone like Rachel. They might have bickered and fought like an old married couple, but there would've been no secrets between them. She would've had her heart without doubt, or hesitation.

"But seriously, Santana," Rachel edged softly, placing her hand over tanned skin. "If I was her, and you walked through my door, it would've been like Michael never existed."

"Thanks," Santana mumbled, running a finger around the rim of her glass. "I'm glad you came."

She was hesitant at first, but she really was thankful that Rachel had insisted she come with her. She didn't think she could have faced all of this on her own without someone to distract her. She looked up from her drink to be met with a set of deep brown eyes that shone in the dark blue lights of the bar. Santana missed hearing those words that made her feel like she was the only one, and she missed seeing someone look at her the way Rachel was.

_Wait a minute._

"Yeah, me too."

Those eyes flicked down to her lips, before lazily dragging back up. A shiver shot up Santana's spine and her heart began to hammer nervously under the intense gaze. Rachel's hand was still on her arm, and was feeling heavier with every second that passed between them. She was about to protest when the girl closed the distance, brushing a pair of soft lips against Santana's, making her swallow her words.

They melted onto hers as Rachel gently leant in further, pulling her lips over Santana's full ones. Her brain completely shut off as confusion and shock set in. She kept her hands on the table, her friend continuing to apply the most delicious pressure until she found herself unconsciously sighing into the kiss. Santana had forgotten how amazing it felt to kiss a girl, to taste her. It left her light headed as she moved her hand up to cup Rachel's cheek. It had been years since anything had felt this good, not since-

_Quinn._

Santana set her jaw at the thought, memories of their first kiss flooding back to her and clouding her vision once more. Memories of how desperate and hungry it was, but also of the pure clarity that came with it. And of their last, that same desperation seared into Santana's mind. The sudden onslaught had her clenching her eyes shut, her hand pushing gently against soft skin. Pulling away from Rachel, she began to shake her head, swallowing hard.

"Rachel, I can't."

"You already did," she whispered against her parted lips.

Santana opened her eyes to see Rachel jerk her head to her right, the darker brunette following her eye line, only to have the blood completely drain from her face. Quinn stood frozen not twenty feet away, watching them with glassy eyes. But it was that look of complete emptiness that tore through her like a knife, Quinn's mouth opening and closing in shock. She held her gaze for a moment longer, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

_Shit._

Time slowed and the noise of the crowd dimmed as Santana sat frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak. She still had her hand on Rachel's cheek, short nails digging into soft skin as the full extent of what just happened settled over her. She couldn't believe Rachel just did that knowing Quinn was watching them.

_This isn't happening._

_This is just a cruel dream._

_This can't fucking happen._

A small hand wrapped around the fingers that were sinking deeper into the skin of Rachel's cheek, pulling her out of her head and putting the room back into focus.

"Santana, what the hell are you waiting for?" Rachel exclaimed in disbelief. "Go after her."

* * *

><p>Santana pushed the door open to the girl's restroom minutes later, catching sight of the blonde standing by the sinks. She had the tap on, letting the water run over her hands with her eyes closed against the harsh down lights. Her brow was furrowed, Quinn letting a sigh escape her lips, before bringing her damp fingertips to her mouth.<p>

Santana did a quick survey of the stalls to her left, before clicking the lock when she saw that they were alone. The sliding of the metal through the wood caught Quinn's attention, her head snapping up to the mirror in front of her. They locked eyes through its reflection, Quinn hesitating, before dropping her eyes back to the sink.

"Congratulations," she retorted. "Looks like Rachel really likes you."

Her words stung more than they should have. Quinn had brought this on herself. She may not have deserved this, hell, _neither_ of them did. But Quinn had plenty of chances to fix this, and she hadn't taken _any_ of them. She just stood by and watched this happen for nearly two weeks and did nothing. Nothing but hesitate and second guess. She'd checked out.

_Why won't you stop head fucking me?_

There was still so many questions left unanswered, and Santana _needed_ them answered. She needed closure, and she needed- no, _wanted_ Quinn back.

"Why?" she breathed, leaning back heavily on the closed door. "You've been back in New York for a whole year. Why didn't you ever try to find me?"

Quinn hung her head lower, refusing to meet her gaze through the mirror. She placed her hands on either side of the sink, her shoulders sagging visibly under all the weight. Swallowing down the hard lump in her throat, Santana pushed off from the door and took a step closer across the tiled floor, her heels echoing around the cold room.

"You were the one that believed in all of this, not me," Santana said, her voice hitching as she tried to breathe through the tears that pulled at the corners of her eyes. "You made me believe we had a future outside of those three weeks."

Through Santana's questioning, Quinn stayed motionless and void, her eyes on the running water in front of her.

_Please say something?_

_Anything?_

"I was fine the first year," Santana continued when Quinn made no attempt at replying. "Ready to shoot myself, but happy. Then when the first month passed, and nothing happened-"

Santana blinked back tears at the memories of the past two years, of the waiting and the longing. And when month after month came and went with nothing, she began to spiral into a girl she barely recognized anymore. Then to find out that Quinn was still in London with_ him_; it was too much for her to take. She knew it was a two way street, she knew that. But it didn't make it hurt any less, and Quinn standing here right now and not saying anything was making it harder.

_Why won't you fucking say something?_

"When you ran into Michael, and you guys started-" Santana took a breath as tears silently began to fall, the images that came with her words twisting the knife further. "Did you even _once _think of me?"

Santana watched as she turned to face her, tears rolling down her cheeks. Quinn chewed at her bottom lip, it trembling as she brought her eyes to the ceiling, her breaths coming in short bursts. And after what felt like an eternity, she began to nod, her lids falling shut.

"Then why?" Santana exclaimed, taking a step closer. "It wasn't over. It was never too late."

"I was scared," Quinn said through a new wave of tears, her voice filling the room and drowning out all else. "Still am."

Santana couldn't hear anything. Not the low hum of the music that still thumped behind the locked door, or the fists that pounded distantly against the wood. Not the running water that ran steadily down the drain. All she could hear was Quinn's heavy breathing, and the words she'd wanted to hear for three long, unexplained years.

"And because I knew," she choked, grabbing the edge of the basin for support. "I knew that you were the _one_ person that could break my heart."

And so did Santana's.

It shattered into a million pieces. Not because her heart was broken by those words, but because that was the single most honest thing Quinn had ever said to her out loud, and Santana's heart didn't know any other way to react. This feeling was foreign to her as well. Sure, she'd said I love you to Quinn more times than she could count, but she'd never had anything so honest and heart wrenching said to her in her life. The urge to just close the distance, and take Quinn in her arms and never let go was unbearable. That was until her next sentence left her mouth.

"But I have Michael now, I lov-" Quinn paused, and squared her shoulders, turning back to the sink and twisting off the tap. "I have Michael," she digressed. "It's easy with him. He'll never hurt me. He's safe."

Santana's face contorted in pain at those words, and at how lifeless they sounded falling from those lips. Where it was only bleeding before, Santana's heart was now completely broken. Quinn had just finished giving her the answers, only to throw more questions in the way.

"How can you say that?" Santana all but yelled. "Are you that afraid of loving me that you're content to just live a lie? What, you think I'll fuck you up just like your parents did? That's _bullshit_, Quinn."

Santana could see her visibly flinch at her harsh words, but she no longer cared. They may have been harsh, but Quinn needed to hear them, just like Santana needed her to hear _I love you _the night before she left. And just like how she now needed her to hear that she wasn't giving up on them.

It wasn't over.

"Fuck that."

Santana crossed the room, closing the last few feet between them and grabbed Quinn by the arm, crashing their lips together. She pinned her against the row of sinks, Quinn yelping in shock, her hands gripping the closest basin for support. Pushing forward, Santana slid her arms around her neck and pulled her in, their bodies flush against each other. Quinn's lips remained unresponsive, her hands staying glued to the bench behind her as Santana brought one of her hands down to grip the side of her face.

Quinn trembled beneath her, Santana feeling her erratic heartbeat through the thin material that separated them. It wasn't until Santana tilted her head and took Quinn's bottom lip into her mouth that a low moan escaped, those hands leaving the sink and snaking down to land just above her ass. Santana could feel them splay out across the tight material of her short black dress, gripping her tighter. As Quinn's jaw began to move beneath the palm of Santana's hand and her lips dragged over hers, she tasted that all too familiar vanilla lip balm, sending that ache to her chest.

_Why does this still hurt?_

Santana thought that finally kissing Quinn would have erased all the anger and bitterness she felt towards her. But as the girl beneath her fingertips gave under her, the pain didn't go away. It stayed stagnate below the surface, just out of reach. It occurred to Santana that while Quinn was kissing her back, she wasn't _actually_ kissing her. All she was doing was giving in and following suit. And that hurt worse than not being able to touch her at all; it felt forced. A part of her needed to know that Quinn wanted this just as much as she did, and that this was her heart doing the leading, not just her body.

Removing both her hands, Santana ran them down Quinn's bare arms until her fingers encircled her wrists behind her back, eliciting a whimper at the soft touch. Santana stole herself before parting her lips, Quinn faltering mid-kiss as she held there, waiting for her to make the first move. She could taste the Vodka and Lime on the blonde's breath, her chest heaving with every scared second that past. Santana wanted to feel her so badly, but she didn't cave, standing her ground.

_It's now or never, Quinn._

Santana suddenly felt the girl's heart steady against her, and her breathing even out. She let her eyes fall shut just as she felt the first touch of Quinn's tongue across her top lip, sending a shiver down her back, Santana melting with that one small stroke. And then when Quinn's tongue slid against hers it was like something clicked. That ache in her chest turned from a painful thud into a brilliant burning that spread over her skin, a loud moan ripping from her throat.

Santana brought her arms back to settle around her neck, pushing her tongue roughly against Quinn's in her desperation for more. It was like she could breathe again, that feeling of drowning lifting to be replaced with a sheer weightlessness. She let a smile spread across her lips, the salty taste of tears mixed in with the Vodka and vanilla as they slipped down both their cheeks. Quinn's eyes brimmed, pulling her in closer until her thigh slipped between Santana's legs, causing her to break the kiss when it hit just right.

_Holy shit._

She reattached their lips, panting against Quinn's open mouth when she brought her leg up higher only to let it fall back down, Santana letting out a whimper at the loss of contact. Short nails dug into the soft skin at Quinn's neck with her every movement, sending Santana reeling. The brunette leant her full weight into Quinn as their mouths still pushed and pulled against each other, no touch ever enough.

Three years of absence.

Of longing.

And waiting.

Three years of nothing all faded when those lips and that tongue met hers.

When she could no longer breathe, Santana broke the kiss and leant her forehead against Quinn's, completely spent. The taller girl's arms hung limply around Santana's waist as she watched her through hooded eyes, Quinn dropping her head to her shoulder.

She didn't know how long the pair stayed like that, time ceasing to exist when she was this close to her again. The girl's touch no longer stung, the feeling of Quinn's head resting against her exposed neck sending chills across her skin, Santana breathing a sigh of relief and pulling her closer. The years of absence had Santana forgetting somewhat insignificant details about Quinn, like just how perfectly their bodies moulded together, like they were made to hold each other and no one else.

Santana suddenly felt Quinn take in a sharp breath, bringing her out of the moment. She heard a whimper break free from those lips, the sound muffled by her shoulder, and then all at once the girl in her arms was clawing at her back, sobs racking her slight frame and her tears soaking into the material of Santana's dress. Quinn made multiple attempts to speak through her sudden outburst, Santana holding onto her tightly as she kept her pinned against the row of sinks. But all the girl could hear was a constant incoherent rush of the same two words over and over again.

"I'm sorry."

Every word was mumbled into the crook of Santana's neck, Quinn's tears wetting her skin. She drew in a ragged breath with each, her head shaking back and forth on Santana's shoulder. The darker girl moved her arms from around her neck, and placed both her hands to her cheeks that had tears relentlessly falling down them, black mascara smudging her flushed skin. Santana smiled sadly at the conflicted girl in her arms, those perfect hazel eyes already starting to cloud over again. It hurt her already healing heart seeing her like this, completely broken and defeated.

_And just as the walls came crashing down, they're right back up again._

* * *

><p>Santana weaved through the crowd, her eyes searching for the brunette, spotting her chatting with Holly by a dry bar near the dance floor. Santana ran a quick finger under her eyes as she neared their table, their conversation stopping abruptly when Rachel saw her approaching. The girl hopped down from her stool, giving her a curious glance at what she assumed where her puffy eyes and flushed lips.<p>

"Hey, how's your night going?" Holly asked around a sip of beer. "Meet anyone you think is cute?"

Holly wiggled her eyebrows, bringing the bottle to the glass counter top while Rachel looked at her expectantly, a knowing smirk on her lips. The feeling of Quinn still lingered fresh in her mind, Santana running her tongue along her bottom lip, tasting her as she tried to suppress a smile at the memory.

"You could say that," Santana told her, before turning on Rachel. "We're leaving."

"But it's only like-"

Santana shot Rachel a look that told her she wasn't asking, turning and beginning to make her way toward the exit. Rachel placed her half empty drink on the table and said goodnight to Holly, before following after her. Santana lead the way through the crowd, B lining for the double doors, two large security guards manning the entrance. She was no more than twenty feet away when she felt someone grab her by the arm, pulling her up short. Santana turned to see Michael, his hand dropping to his side when he caught the annoyed look on her face.

"Hey, have you seen Quinn?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "She walked off awhile ago, and I can't seem to find her."

The man did a quick scan of the room, looking back at Santana as he shoved his hands in his pockets. For a split second Santana felt a pang of guilt at the anxious expression on his face, knowing what she'd just done with his girlfriend. But the feeling was fleeting, fading when Rachel's hand slipped into hers, squeezing gently.

"Um, yeah," she muttered. "She's in the bathroom."

He nodded in understanding, before turning and heading towards the restrooms, disappearing amongst the mass of bodies that still crowded the entrance. Santana watched him go, before pulling Rachel by the hand and walking the rest of the way through the large black doors. They broke out into the cold night air, people crowding the damp pavement as traffic sped past them in both directions. She could still hear the bass from inside flowing out into the street, Santana letting the crisp air wash over her skin and clear her mind.

"What happened?" Rachel questioned as they made their way past the crowd and further down the street. "You were gone for like half an hour."

Santana ran her fingers over her still flushed lips as Rachel attempted to hail a cab, receiving curious glances from people walking past. Truth be told, Santana was still unsure of what just happened with Quinn. Thoughts and images rushed by like a photo reel on fast-forward, her mind going from the bitter words to the kiss to Quinn's clouded eyes. She honestly didn't know what to think at this point. She didn't know where they stood, or what was going to happen come Monday. All she knew was that the pain in her chest was gone, and she couldn't stop the smile that was trying to fight its way to the surface every time her mind went back to that bathroom.

_She still loves me._

"You kissed her, didn't you?" Rachel accosted, a cab pulling up to the side of the curb. The smile completely broke from Santana's lips as she brought her hand down from her mouth. She turned her gaze to Rachel, the girl reading the blissed out expression that painted her features.

_She loves me._

"How was it?" Rachel edged innocently.

She held the backdoor of the car open for her to slide in first, watching her face closely as she waited for her to answer. Santana brushed past her, but turned back before ducking inside the taxi.

"Fucking amazing."

* * *

><p>"I'm sending you far away, Q," Holly announced cheerfully over the top of her computer. "How soon can you leave?"<p>

Holly sat at her desk, her hands laced together in front of her with a wide smile on her face. Santana's stomach lurched at the woman's words, turning to Quinn to see those eyes light up and that smile pull across her lips. Santana suddenly found it hard to be saddened by her leaving when she looked that elated at hearing those words. But she couldn't help wonder for how long. Santana knew when she took this job that Quinn would need to travel for the paper, but she didn't expect it to be this soon. Especially now since Quinn had only just begun letting her in again.

"Um, tomorrow, tonight," Quinn stuttered. "Whatever you need."

When Santana arrived for work that morning, she honestly didn't know what to expect when she saw the blonde. She'd left her somewhat in tears at the party on Friday, so she was more than a little nervous to see her. She wasn't expecting her to drop everything after what happened, but she was at least hoping the void had been lifted between them, even though her eyes still seemed to be guarded. But as she walked into the studio, she'd barely got a chance to even say hello when they were both pulled into Holly's office.

"Great, I'll have your tickets waiting for you at JFK tomorrow morning."

Santana watched the girl bounce on the tips of her feet, her excitement almost tangible. Holly got out of her chair and walked around to the front of her desk where she leant against it, crossing her arms across her chest. She flicked her gaze between the two girls, that smile still on her lips. Santana quirked her eyebrow when her attention would land on her, an odd look crossing over Holly's face.

"So, where will I be going?" Quinn asked.

"Vietnam," Holly told her, Quinn nodding to herself. "You been?"

"Um, no I haven't."

"Good," Holly chirped.

"Good," Quinn murmured to herself.

Holly pursed her lips as she watched the girl turn to leave the room, Santana looking on from her spot on the couch with a strange feeling twisting in her gut.

_There's something you're not telling her._

"Oh, and Q, one more thing," Holly began, catching her attention once more. "Santana will be going with you."

_And there it is._

"I'm sorry?"

Quinn's voice went up an octave, her eyes finally landing on Santana. The look in them sent chills over Santana's skin, her already nerve ridden stomach doing tiny flips. Her eyes held that scared longing that she hadn't seen since Europe, her heart racing at the implications behind that look. But as quickly as it came, it flinted away, her eyes turning guarded once more.

"Well, she's _your_ assistant," Holly countered. "If you leave, she's out of a job."

Quinn's eyes stayed on her, before nodding shakily and turning for the door. Santana sat frozen for a moment, her heart going a mile a minute as her thoughts slowly cottoned on to what was happening. Quinn paused at the door, turning back to Santana with an expectant set to her eyes. With a nervous cough, Santana got up from the couch and followed her out in somewhat of a daze, the reality of what just happen still not sinking in.

_I'm going to Vietnam._

_With Quinn._

_Alone._

"Santana," Holly called just as she reached the door. Quinn turned around at the sound of her voice, locking eyes with Santana briefly, her hand on the door. A scared smile quirked at the side of her mouth, before she let the door swing shut. Santana took a breath and walked back to the couch, leaning on one of the armrests and waiting for Holly to speak, the woman resting her hands against the wooden lip of her desk.

"She never wanted an assistant," she stated, watching Santana's brow furrow in confusion.

"W-what do you mean?" Santana stuttered, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. "You told me she asked for one. What other reason do I have to be here? To be going with her to Vietnam?"

"That night at the bar, when you were talking to me about that girl you met in Europe," Holly began, an air of smugness in her tone. "You describe Quinn to a tee."

"Holly," she breathed. "I don't-"

Santana couldn't even speak, Holly grinning at her as she leant against her desk. She opened her mouth again, but her words got stuck on her tongue, completely floored by the admittance. Holly chuckled to herself at the look on Santana's face, before waving her off.

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight, you're going to another country with your <em>ex<em>?"

"She's not my ex," Santana mumbled, stuffing a pair of jeans into the top of her rucksack, keeping her gaze away from the man currently fuming on her leather couch. She didn't want have to explain to Puck her relationship with Quinn when she didn't even know herself.

_Which isn't exactly knew territory for us._

She'd been in a daze the whole night before, none of what happened sinking in; convincing herself that the past few days had been a dream. It wasn't until that morning when Puck had shown up at her door demanding to know why she hadn't returned any of his calls that the reality of it all had finally hit her.

"But you're into her," he accosted, his voice bouncing off the walls and the high ceiling. Santana had to bite her tongue around that complete and utter understatement, instead busying herself with folding a singlet into her bag.

"Noah, the key to being a jealous boyfriend," she implored, walking over to her dresser. "You've _actually _got to be a boyfriend first."

"Fine," he huffed. "Would you be my girlfriend?"

Santana didn't pay him any mind, rifling through her top drawer and pulling out underwear and socks. She could hear him shift his weight on the couch, Santana walking back over to her bed with the last minute clothing items.

"See, you're not over her."

"Based on me not wanting to be your girlfriend?" Santana retorted, still not looking at him. "That just makes me human."

"Whoa, what's supposed to mean?"

Santana was about to verbally castrate him again when there was a light rapping on the front door, cutting through the tension in the room. Puck rolled his eyes and rested his head back on the couch. Without a backward glance, Santana walked out of the room, crossing the living area and pulled open the door. Her heart skipped when she was met with those almond eyes and a nervous smile.

"Ready to go?" Quinn murmured. "Cab's out front."

The girl wore a cane fedora, and her aviators were slipped into the front of her buttoned up shirt. It left Santana slightly breathless. Her standing in her doorway brought back very vivid memories of Europe, of her waking her up to take her somewhere new.

_Somewhere unexpected._

Santana hadn't realised she was staring until Quinn dropped her head and cleared her throat nervously under her gaze.

"Umm, yeah," Santana choked, shaking her head slightly. "I just need to finish packing my toiletries, and then we can go."

Santana left the door open and walked back into her apartment, feeling those eyes on her back as she made her way back into her room. But she hadn't made it halfway when Puck rounded the corner, a hard set to his jaw as he stared down Quinn. Santana death glared him, but he remained unaffected, the brunette turning around with an uneasy smile to introduce him.

"Quinn, this is Noah-"

"Her boyfriend," he cut in before she could finish, his tone stern.

_Are you fucking with me, Noah?_

"Who was just leaving," she added through gritted teeth, grabbing him by his bare arm and shoving him toward the door.

"Whatever," he grumbled, pulling on his leather jacket that he'd left on the back of one of the dining chairs. He brushed past Quinn, giving her a once over, before slamming the front door closed behind him. It vibrated off the doorjamb, Quinn's head snapping towards the ear splitting sound.

"Well, he seems nice," Quinn jested, standing awkwardly in the living room, unsure of whether she should sit or stand, her eyes flicking around the apartment. Santana laughed at her playful words, reminding her of the old Quinn, the one that was full of life and did everything with a smile on her face.

_God, I've missed you._

She smiled at her, and walked the rest of the way to her room and into the ensuite. She gathered her toothbrush and stuffed it to her carry on, still not believing that Quinn was in her apartment right now.

"So, where's Brittany?" Quinn called, her voice sounding much closer than she'd thought.

_Scratch that, she's in my bedroom._

"She's at work," Santana said over her shoulder, trying to shake off her current train of thought. "She runs a dance studio with her boyfriend a few blocks from our office."

Santana grabbed her toiletries bag and left the bathroom, halting when she got to the doorway. Quinn was standing by her bedside table, _their_ photo in her hand. She was dragging her fingers over the glass, staring at the two figures underneath the arches that might as well have been strangers. Santana took in a sharp breath, Quinn turning toward her and their eyes locking across the room.

"Oh, I was just," Quinn stuttered, turning back to the picture frame, her eyes turning distant. "I love this photo."

Santana reached for her bag, placing her toiletries on top and zipping it closed. She cautiously moved closer to Quinn, her eyes still on the photo. As she neared her, she could see her biting her lip, her teeth worrying across the soft skin. Santana found herself unable to look away at the teasing gesture, her eyes watching as she released it. Quinn looked back at her, and it was like the bathroom all over again. Except this time there was only a foot between them and her bed, Santana's eyes darting to the dark sheets and then back to those lips.

_What am I, a horny teenager now?_

She looked up to those hazel eyes, lust hidden behind that clouded haze that hadn't complete cleared yet. Santana reached out for the frame, keeping her eyes on the girl, Quinn's not leaving hers as their fingers brushed against each other. It sent tingles up Santana's arm and had her breathing heavily, the atmosphere in the room turning thick.

"We should get going," Quinn murmured lowly with a nervous cough. "We'll miss our flight."

Santana took a breath and pulled away from her, nodding absently to herself, Quinn pursing her lips and placing the frame back down on the wooden beside table. The blonde skirted around her on her way to the door, Santana rolling her eyes when she was out of view.

_Pull yourself together, Lopez._

_Baby steps._

When she reached the busy street outside, her rucksack on her shoulder, Quinn was already waiting by the open trunk. Santana shoved the backpack in next to hers, before slamming it shut. They both climbed into the backseat, pulling on their seatbelts and settling in as the cab pulled off the curb and into the morning New York traffic. Quinn had her eyes on the city outside; Santana's on Quinn. She turned her head, sensing Santana's gaze on her, a small smile gracing her lips.

"Déjà vu?"

"Little bit," Santana mused softly, her eyes distant, before they pulled up to Quinn's. "Except this time we won't have to say goodbye."

Quinn's breath hitched, her mouth moving wordlessly, before turning back to the outside world beyond the window, skyscrapers rushing by. A strange sense of calm settled over Santana despite everything. Despite the tension that still hummed lowly between them. And despite Michael still being in the picture, and the fact that she still seemed to have her stubborn walls up around her heart.

Despite it all, Santana felt hopeful.

Being around Quinn again had that irrational part of her brain taking over and clouding the logical once more.

_I really am like Rachel._

_Let the flames begin._

_Again._


	12. II: The Fake Sound Of Progress

**A/N: I had someone ask me about Santana's problem with British guys, rafting in Austria, the beer hall in Germany, then Michael. So I thought I would explain it to everyone. It was an unconscious hatred she had since Quinn was leaving her to go to England. So she took a disliking to anything that reminded her of that fact, which included British men, in a nutshell.**

* * *

><p>Her left arm pulsed numbly, pins and needles running from her shoulder down to the tips of her fingers. Santana shifted slightly in her seat, a rush of blood flowing through her arm, heightening the dull ache. But the uncomfortable tingling was masked by the soft strands of messy blonde hair that brushed against her bare skin, and the steady in and out of the girl's breathing as she slept soundly on Santana's shoulder.<p>

She'd been sitting like this for the past hour, watching the girl as the light outside the window slowly faded into darkness. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little cold, having nothing but a singlet covering her chest. But she was scared to move, or even reach for a blanket, afraid that this moment would break, this moment of complete peace and clarity. Her breathing came easier, and she couldn't help the smile that made its way across her lips. So, she sat in content silence as Quinn continued to snore softly, Santana keeping her eyes on the sleeping girl.

After a moment, Santana moved her gaze to the small window next to Quinn, the setting sun casting an orange glow over miles and miles of grass fields. Small houses spotted the horizon with narrow road winding through the expanse of green like a vast web. But Santana knew that all of it would soon fade, the view along with the tingling in just a few short minutes. Any moment the fields would give way to a sprawling city and Santana would be forced to wake the sleeping girl next to her.

She ran her fingers gently through Quinn's fringe, barely grazing the hair that stuck adorably to her forehead. She looked so peaceful. Santana wanted nothing more than to leave her there, Quinn stirring gently at the soft touch. A smile pulled at the side of her mouth as another rush of tingles shot down Santana's arm at the small movement.

_This should be killing me, being this close to you._

_It should hurt._

_So, why isn't the pain coming?_

A young redheaded woman began walking down the aisle, turning to each passenger and taking headphones and other waste, preparing for their landing in the capital. Santana stole herself the last few moments of this feeling, knowing that it would dim once the girl opened her eyes. Knowing that once she woke, the moment would be hindered by those clouded eyes and the stubborn walls. After a breath, Santana reached out and ran the back of her finger gently down her cheek, attempting to rouse her.

"Quinn."

The girl's brow furrowed, stirring slightly, before burying her face further into the nook between Santana's arm and the swell of her chest. The brunette heaved a sigh, her hand ready to run another finger over her cheek when soft lips connected to Santana's skin, rendering her breathless. Long fingers laced delicately around her wrist, those lips placing lazy kisses on the underside of her arm as her nose grazed the sensitive skin. It sent a different kind of tingling down her arm, and had her heart beating loudly just beneath her thin singlet.

"Quinn," she repeated, failing miserably to keep her voice even.

_God, that feels good._

The girl's eyes slowly fluttered open, focusing on the brunette, her lazy smile dropping slightly. Santana watched as realization washed over her face at who was actually sitting next to her. Bringing her hand up to her mouth, Quinn brushed her fingertips gently across her lips as she sat up to regard Santana cautiously, shock colouring the clouded hazel.

"Sorry," she husked sleepily, no longer able to meet her gaze. "Habit."

_And you're apologizing for that why?_

Quinn busied herself with adjusting the off-white blanket that covered her knees as feeling rushed back into Santana's arm, her skin prickling uncomfortably. She flexed her fingers and stretched out her shoulder experimentally, Quinn still not looking in her direction. A chill spread down her back as the temperature of the cabin hit her warm arm, Santana shivering involuntarily.

"Sorry," Quinn mumbled, gesturing towards Santana's singlet. "You're probably freezing."

"It's fine." Santana dismissed. "We're nearly there anyway. The stewardess said twenty minutes till we land in Hanoi."

Quinn briefly glanced up at Santana, mumbling an _okay_ as she began nodding to herself absently. Leaving the blanket in a heap on the floor, she bent down, grabbing a small red case from her backpack under her chair.

"I'm just going to freshen up," she told Santana, motioning towards the bathrooms just up the corridor as she stood in her seat next to the window.

"Okay, I'll just-"

Santana made a move to unbuckle her seatbelt, but was stopped by the girl's hand on hers, Quinn immediately retracting it once she caught her attention.

"No, it's okay," she assured her. "You don't need to get up."

There was easily a foot of space between Santana and the chair in front, Quinn slipping past on the way to the restroom. Santana didn't know whether it was a reflex to steady her, or whether she was just looking for another excuse to touch the girl again, but as Quinn crossed in front of her, she couldn't help bringing her hands up to rest just above the girl's hips, her fingers gripping her gently through her jeans. The feeling of Quinn under her fingertips sent her reeling, her pulse quickening with each second that passed. The gesture felt so natural that for a second she forgot she wasn't allowed to touch her in that way anymore.

"Santana."

Quinn's breath hitched, her eyes falling closed at the touch as she stood frozen in front of her. Her voice was barely above a whisper, almost pleading. Pleading for what, Santana didn't know. She didn't know whether it was a plea to remove her hands, or to pull her in.

_Please let it be the latter._

Santana removed her gaze from her hands and up to those lips, the meaning behind the plea completely lost, along with her will to move. She watched those lips part, short breaths escaping them, her eyes still closed. It wasn't until Quinn cleared her throat nervously that Santana slowly dropped her hands, placing them on the armrests either side of her, gripping tightly.

"Sorry, habit." Santana jested.

"Yeah," Quinn breathed, still slightly dazed as she moved the rest of the way into the aisle. Santana watched her until she reached the closed door, knocking impatiently on the laminate. After a moment she slid it back, Quinn locking eyes with Santana briefly across the cabin, before disappearing inside. The brunette let her head fall back on the rest, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

_I am so fucked._

* * *

><p>The wall of heat knocked the air from her lungs as the glass sliding doors of the airport opened in front them. It stuck to her skin beneath her jacket, her breaths becoming laboured with each intake of the humid air. It was uncomfortable to put it lightly, Santana dropping her bag to the pavement next to Quinn.<p>

"Dear God, it's hotter than a baby's ass."

That familiar peel of laughter reached Santana's ears making her momentarily forget about the hot night air that met them as they step out on to the busy footpath. She turned her eyes to a still giggling Quinn, the girl trying to hide her amusement.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You know what I mean," Santana smiled, slipping off her leather jacket.

She took in a deep breath, the smell of exhaust fumes and cigarettes, mixed with a spice that she couldn't quite put her finger on scenting the air. The older man that had greeted them when they landed ushered them forward with a wave of his hand. He had jet-black hair and a kind smile, the girls following him across to the parking lot opposite the sliding doors. Once they reached the silver Toyota four-door, the slight man popped the trunk, heaving their backpacks into the limited space. Santana glanced around at her surroundings as the man closed it once more with a click, everything completely foreign and nothing like she'd ever seen. Nodding encouragingly, their driver opened the backdoor for them both to slide in next to each other, closing it behind them.

"This guy knows where he's going, right?" Santana whispered as she settled into her seat, watching the man circle the car to the driver's side. "Because I didn't fly twenty-one hours just to end up in the middle of a rice field."

"Don't worry," Quinn assured her. "Holly's organized transfers for the whole trip."

Santana relaxed a little bit, buckling her seatbelt as the man turned on the ignition. As they pulled out into the line of traffic, Santana noticed that the airport was at the end of a large turning circle that just wrapped back onto the highway, stretching for miles into the distance. The sun was just touching the horizon, the orange glow fading with the flash of headlights and streetlamps. As soon as they drove through the boom gates, Santana started to see her first proper glimpse of Vietnam, even if it was cast into shadow.

Mile after mile passed, both girls keeping their eyes out the window as thousands of scooters and flatbed trucks sped past with no real regard for the road rules. The constant sound of horns met her ears every few seconds from passing vehicles, and from their driver as well. Santana let it slide for the first few miles, but the constant hum was getting the better of her curiosity.

"What's with the horns?" Santana asked just as he slammed his hand down again.

"Sorry?"

"She's asking why you use the horn so much," Quinn clarified.

"Oh," he nodded in understanding. "It's how we communicate with the bikes, so they know where behind them. Too many accidents."

The man shifted his eyes back to the road, Santana watching countless motorbikes, some with up to four people on them, speed passed the window and flash out of sight. With the way they weaved in and out of the oncoming traffic, it didn't surprise her that there were accidents on a regular basis on this road. The constant beat of the horns became like a conversation between the drivers and the riders, becoming more of a hello than a get out the way. It was very surreal.

The bare highway started to give way to small roadside shacks, people of all ages sitting on small stools on the footpath, watching the cars go by. Santana noted that it seemed like a very simple life, free from materialistic things. Instead replaced with family and friends, something she knew nothing of. That feeling of loneliness started to creep its way into her chest once more at being away from her family, or Brittany at least; Quinn's presence suddenly doing very little to help ease the crippling feeling.

_Why did I agree to this?_

"How long until we reach the hotel?" Quinn asked the driver as they stopped at the first intersection at what appeared to be the outskirts of town. The dilapidated buildings were slowly becoming more built up, cement and stone replacing the corrugated iron that lined the streets.

"About another twenty minutes."

Buildings became wider but more crowded, their stock spilling out onto the footpaths as thousands of scooters and bikes were parked on every available space up the streets. Neon signs of red and green reflected off the damp asphalt that was cracked and broken every few blocks. People swept the sidewalks, while others hocked their goods. It was a busy metropolis, but unlike any Santana had ever seen. Whether it was the language barrier, or the poverty that met them at every street corner, Santana found it hard to feel safe in this new place. She didn't know what she was expecting to find once they got off the plane, but it definitely wasn't this. This was a complete culture shock of epic proportions.

_Suddenly being a trust fund kid doesn't look so bad._

She turned her eyes to Quinn who was still gazing out her window. Her expression was guarded, but Santana could tell that their surroundings were taking the same effect on the girl by the way her teeth worried against her bottom lip.

The car began to slow as it pulled up to the side of the curb just outside a busy tourist strip, souvenir stores lining the streets. A squat woman hurried up to Quinn's car door and opened it in greeting, before grabbing her by the arm and dragging her towards a four-story building with glass front doors, and a large red and gold sign overhead.

"This way, this way," she ushered impatiently, tugging on her arm.

"Oh, okay," Quinn stammered, turning around in the woman's grasp to see if Santana was following after her. The brunette jumped out of the car and hurried to catch up to Quinn as she was pulled through the entrance. Once she reached the doors, a blast of cool air hit her heated skin, Santana breathing a sigh of relief. There were tourist brochures lining the right wall of the small lobby with a set of computers to the left. Quinn was being spoken to by the woman at the front desk, handing her paper work to sign in a flurry of broken English. Santana turned back to the darkened street, their driver saddling up to the door carrying both their rucksacks with some effort. He placed them down on the tiled floor, before holding out his hand, Santana looking at him in confusion, unsure of what she was meant to do.

"He wants you to pay him," the older woman barked from behind the counter.

"Oh," Santana muttered, reaching into her pocket for a colourful note. She looked sceptical as she passed it to him, but the man seemed please, bowing before making his way back to the idle car. She turned back to Quinn just as the owner was giving her the key to the room.

"It's on the third floor, just up those stairs," she directed, jabbing her finger behind her. "Breakfast is served down here at seven. And there is a switch you must turn on as you go into the bathroom to use the hot water."

Quinn turned to Santana with wide eyes, mouthing a _wow,_ before shouldering her bag and heading up the spiral staircase just behind the front desk. Both girls were a little breathless when they finally reached their room, Quinn having to slam her shoulder into the door before it swung open. It wasn't much to look at, but it had the essentials; two beds, a TV, and a bathroom. The large window on the far side looked out onto the back alley behind the hotel, making the room look smaller than it really was. Santana huffed, dumping her bag on the floor and claiming one of the two single beds, practically falling face down in exhaustion from the long flight.

"So, what's the plan?" Santana mumbled into her pillow, hearing Quinn busy herself with her own bag, before the strain of bed springs met her ears.

"Don't have one."

Santana turned her head towards Quinn who was sitting on her bed with a Frommers guidebook in one hand and a pen in the other, deep in thought. She flicked through it, page after page, creasing down a corner every few seconds.

"You don't have one?" Santana repeated sceptically.

_But you're Quinn._

Santana didn't pretend to know how, but the girl always seemed to know her next move. She knew where to go, what to see, what to eat; she was a walking Frommers herself. So to hear her say she didn't know, especially when this place was more than a little unsettling, was a shock.

"All Holly does is put me on a plane," she explained, keeping her eyes on the book as she chewed on the tip of her pen. "And then I go back to New York when I've found something worth writing about. It's how it's been since I met her. And all of that makes me wonder why she made me take you with me."

Quinn glanced up over the top of her book expectantly, waiting for an explanation. Santana weighed up the pros and cons of telling her the truth behind her presence, but decided against it, knowing that it would do more harm than good at this point.

"Well, when you figure that out, you let me know," Santana teased, sitting up and grabbing a piece of fruit from the bowl on the bedside table. She wiped the apple on her singlet before taking a bite, hearing Quinn's head fall back against the wall.

"It's just that I've done three of these trips already, and it's always been alone," Quinn digressed, placing the open book face down on her stomach and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Santana mumbled around a mouthful of apple, smirking when the blonde's gaze pulled down to met hers, that familiar glow in her eyes.

"One down," Quinn quipped back, her lips pulling up at the memory.

_However many to go._

* * *

><p>Santana watched the ceiling fan as it rotated around and around, trying to follow one of the blades in the limited light. But every time it swung into shadow she'd lose sight of it, blurring among the rest. She did this as she lay awake, not able to get her mind to switch off. She kept going back over the events of Friday night, and over what happened in that bathroom. She'd gotten her answers, but it still wasn't enough. And then she went and kissed her, which in retrospect was stupid and reckless. But a part of her knew she couldn't have waited for Quinn to open her eyes. To wake up and realize that what they had still wasn't over, that it still burned between them. If she waited, it would have been too late. She would have moved on with Michael, and willingly or not, left her behind. So she kissed her. She tore down her walls with brute force. And now she lay awake watching a ceiling fan, listening to the sounds from the street below because of those walls.<p>

"What are you thinking?"

Quinn's voice cut through the screeching of tires and the blaring of the car horns, and had Santana jerking out of her thoughts. She turned her head toward her, noticing she was in the exact same position, her arms crossed behind her head, staring into nothing. Santana rolled onto her side, regarding the girl fully.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?"

She watched Quinn's chest rise and fall, while her lips stayed still like they always did. Santana wished just for a moment that Quinn wouldn't be so protective of her feelings; that she'd just let her in for once. But she knew that was a fool's wish, so she continued as _she_ always did, tearing the walls down piece by piece.

"When I kissed you," Santana edged, keeping her eyes on Quinn. "And you kissed me back, what did it mean?"

She swallowed down the lump that had risen in her throat, waiting for Quinn to answer. It was hard for her to talk about these feelings, partly because she didn't want to be rejected again. She didn't know if her heart could take anymore. But she needed to know, just like she did every other time she'd tried to force her way in. So she waited for an answer, the lump getting higher the longer the silence stretched on.

"I honestly don't know," Quinn sighed. "And I don't have any answers for you, Santana. I can't-"

"It's okay, I get it," Santana breathed, shutting her eyes against the complete non-answer, Quinn once again dodging the problem. Santana heard the rustle of sheets prompting her to open her eyes again, seeing Quinn curled up on her side facing the window. She heard a sharp intake of breath that drowned out the world outside the door. It filled the dark room, Santana watching her slight frame visibly shake, before the girl whispered goodnight.

* * *

><p>Santana watched as a woman bent down, shovelling soil around a row of flowers in the low-set planter, another doing the same a few feet down. The whole pathway that wrapped around the lake was lined with more of the colourful arrangements, the locals seeming to constantly be tending to them in some way. Santana smiled at her when she looked up underneath her straw hat, before she went back to work, murmuring excitedly to her friend.<p>

Walking over to the ledge surrounding the lake, Santana leant her arms on the aging cement and looked out over the murky green water. Large red lanterns tethered to the ground by thick cabling floated over a small island in the centre, people passing by admiring them and taking photos. They were a stark contrast against the completely white sky, a thick haze hanging low over the city, making it seem dreary despite the immense heat.

"Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

Santana turned to Quinn who was taking a photo of the gardening woman with her black Nikon. She regarded Santana for a moment, before bring the camera back up to her face and snapping another picture.

"I don't see any elephant," Quinn chirped as she looked down at the small LCD screen. "Besides, we're outside."

She shot her a smile, before walking further along the path toward a red brick archway that stood idle next to the busy road. Santana followed her as she bent down on one knee, taking a photo of the structure from a lower angle.

"I'm talking about this," Santana stated, gesturing to their surroundings. "Us, just walking around a lake. It's not exactly noteworthy."

Quinn spun on her heels, still crouched low to the ground, staring wide-eyed at the darker girl. She opened her mouth, only to close it several times before she found her words.

"It's only day two," she argued in astonishment. "See, this is why I don't take people with me."

Santana regarded her for a moment, the same bikes and scooters speeding by in the thousands while people bustled past, going about their day. Quinn's expression held an air of annoyance, though Santana could tell she was just blowing smoke as there was no real basis for her reaction.

"It's just not really you," Santana told her honestly.

Quinn stared back at her, Santana watching her eyes pass from irritated to scared, and back again. She sighed, swallowing audibly, before dropping her gaze to the cracked pavement at her feet.

"You don't know me," Quinn muttered.

A slight breeze whipped Santana's hair around her face and sent a chill down her back as it cooled the sweat that poured down her neck, the brunette shaking her head. It seemed like everything between them held a double meaning; what was seen in plain sight, and then what was under the surface. Her words were caught between you don't know, and I won't tell you. It had been this way for two weeks, and Santana knew that it wouldn't ease up until they truly talked about their issues and had everything out in the open. But she knew that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. As much as Santana tried not to let it show, her words still stung more than they should have, her chest aching in that all too familiar way.

"I know you enough."

She turned and wandered back the way they came, an elderly woman coming up beside her and shoving a newspaper under her nose insistently. Santana ignored her, waving her away with her hand as she continued toward the bridge that crossed over to the small island.

_I know you._

_I wouldn't be here if I didn't._

"Fine," Quinn sighed in exasperation, Santana turning on the spot to see her with her hands on her hips. She jogged over to her, seeing a small smile pulling at the side of her mouth. "Give me some money."

"Seriously?" Quinn held out her hand expectantly, her eyes not wavering. "You are _so_ cheap."

Santana fished into the pocket of her cotton shorts, pulling out what she presumed was the equivalent of a twenty dollar note, handing it to the blonde with a tiny shake of her head.

"Some things will never change," she mused, taking the money and walking off. Santana stared after her in shock, not making any attempt at following. After a few yards, Quinn turned to the brunette with a grin. "Are you coming, roomie?"

Santana's breath hitched, that word washing over her skin and sinking into her chest where her heart began to race. It sounded so perfect coming from those lips that she couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face, her heart not slowing down. Quinn noticed her reaction, her grin faltering as she took a breath and cleared her throat, continuing on up the crowded footpath.

_Watch out, Quinn. Looks like I'm not the only one who's fucked._

* * *

><p>Santana could feel every rock and every ditch as the thin wheels sped faster around the busy streets of Hanoi. She gripped the metal crossbar above her seat, a laugh escaping from the adrenaline that pumped through her veins. Motorbikes flashed by them, narrowly missing the carriage she shared with Quinn. There were mere inches between their bare thighs, but Santana didn't notice as her senses were ambushed by the sights and smells of the city.<p>

"Are we going to die?"

Quinn giggled, her right hand gripping the metal support of the Cyclo, their driver concentrating on the road ahead. Street after street whirled by, the wind whipping at both their cheeks. It was exhilarating. Not because they were going fast, but just being in the thick of the immense traffic and the constant thrum of the horns put all her cares at ease.

It was freeing.

"Happy now?" Quinn asked innocently, the bicycle slowing as it turned the corner into a street shaded by red cedar trees that cast shadows across the faded bitumen.

_You have no idea._

Santana bit her lip as a genuine smile graced Quinn's lips. The taller girl gave a nonchalant shrug and turned to the young man who was driving them aimlessly through back streets and side alleys.

"So, Mr?"

"Feng."

"Mr Feng," Quinn grinned, leaning forward in her seat. "What's there to do around here?"

* * *

><p>"Is that guy trying to mount the tiger, or kill it?"<p>

Quinn attempted to stifle her laughter with the palm of her hand, coughing to mask the echo that it sent around the dark theatre. She pursed her lips as she tried to pay attention to what was happening in front of her, doing her best to ignore Santana's comment. But it was proving difficult for her as she glanced up at her every few moments, losing it again when she caught the amused look on Santana's face.

She watched the water lap against the edge of the stage while the musicians sat to the left of the large pool, strumming along to the tale that played out next to them. Two-foot tall wooden puppets dipped in and out of the water as the narrator rattled off a story in Vietnamese to the laughter of the other hundred people crammed into the limited seats. Because of the language barrier, it was hard to tell what was actually happening as a tiger, no bigger that a house cat, lunged at a man holding a spear. But due to the comical nature of the puppets, it ended up looking like the man was trying to rear end the thing, rather than end its life.

Santana had to hold back her own laughter as a shrill giggling started on stage when four smaller puppets floated out into the water to join the man. She turned to Quinn to see her lips still set in a hard line, her brow furrowed in her concentration.

"It's okay to laugh, Quinn," Santana whispered, nudging her playfully. "I actually think it's the only way we're going to get through this thing alive."

"Be nice," she chastised. "I was told it was one of their oldest traditions."

Santana watched as the wooden puppets' arms swung back and forth on what appeared to be simple metal rivets, the four new additions bobbing happily in the water, their movements almost robotic.

"That I don't argue."

Quinn brought her hand sharply down on Santana's bare arm that lay on the armrest between them, sending a piercing crack echoing around the room.

"Hey," Santana pouted, rubbing at the skin, a faint red mark already starting to rise. The sound caused a few people to turn their heads toward the girls, staring at them in annoyance.

Quinn could no longer look at her, placing her elbow on the armrest and shielding herself from the girl's view. Santana had forgotten how amazing it felt to be the cause of that smile and that laugh. And as the scene played out, she couldn't help but continue, that feeling that washed over her like an addictive drug.

"It would be nice to know what they're actually saying though," Quinn mentioned absently as the child-like puppets began to sing in a circle around some tiny ducks that floated by.

"I can translate if you want," Santana offered, not able to wipe the grin from her face.

"Don't you dare," Quinn warned sternly under her breath.

Santana ignored her, grinning manically as she edged closer to the girl in her seat. Her heart hammered beneath her chest; being this close to her taking it's usual effect. Quinn glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, refusing to turn her head as she leant over the armrest between them, close to her ear.

"I'm a real boy."

"We are so getting kicked out for this."

* * *

><p>"Can't you see he's using you?"<p>

Santana heard the dull thud of Quinn's pen hitting the paper, and the familiar sound of her shutting her journal.

"What are you talking about?" she asked cautiously from her spot on the bed behind Santana. She turned around on the edge of the mattress, regarding the girl fully.

"This is serious, Quinn."

"It's in Korean, Santana," she countered, quirking a perfect eyebrow. The brunette huffed, rolling her eyes as she faced the TV once more, a man in a white lab coat eyeing a female nurse across the ward. He smirked at her as an orderly came up behind him, stealing his attention.

"Love is love," Santana stated simply. "No matter what language it's in."

_Even when it's not said out loud._

Silence stretched on between them, Santana continuing to watch the badly acted soap on the small television. Her eyes may have been on the screen, but her mind was on Quinn. Santana knew a part of Quinn still loved her, otherwise why would she still be writing in her journal. She was actually surprised she brought it with her, all things considering. She thought after what happened in her office that Quinn would be all but finished with it; at least for the time being.

Santana turned around again when she was no longer able to hear the familiar scratch of her pen on the paper. Quinn was staring at her, the pen resting on her bottom lip. Her eyes never wavered as they appeared to stare right through her, the girl deep in thought.

"What?"

The way she was looking at her was making Santana's stomach turn uncomfortably. It always seemed to be that way with Quinn. Santana could stare all she wanted, but as soon as the tables were turned she suddenly felt irrationally self-conscious, her eyes always so guarded. The girl took a breath before speaking, her gaze focusing on Santana.

"What were the dreams about?" Quinn asked in a small voice, her eyes never leaving her. "The ones you had the first year I was in London?"

Memories and images flooded back to the forefront of her mind, Santana letting her eyes fall shut against the sudden rush. They weren't exactly dreams she liked to replay in her mind, spending years trying to forget them. A lump started high in her throat, it not dissolving no matter how much she swallowed. A part of Santana didn't want to answer her. She'd just spent the better part of two weeks trying to get her to open up, and here Quinn was trying to read her like a book as if it was that simple. But Santana reasoned that as long as they were talking, it really didn't matter who initiated it.

"It was always the same dream, over and over," Santana began, lying on her side as she toyed with a loose thread on the comforter. "You getting on the train. Sometimes I'd run after you, sometimes I'd just stand there and watch you go. But every time, you would never turn around. You'd never stay."

Santana let out a breath at the haunting memory that had plagued her that whole first year. Blinking back the telling sting, she looked up from her hands to find Quinn staring back down at her journal, her teeth pressing gently into her bottom lip as she nodded sadly. Santana shifted her weight, drawing Quinn's attention from the notebook in her lap.

"But then there were others," she continued wistfully.

"Others?"

Quinn's voice was cautious, her perfect almond eyes holding a level of shyness Santana hadn't seen in a long time. It sent a chill down her back as she sat up on the end of the mattress, continuing to watch her carefully. Quinn didn't move an inch, not able to tear her eyes away as they stayed captivated by Santana.

"Yeah," she breathed. "But those I'd have to show you."

Santana could see the rise and fall of Quinn's chest, her hands tightening on the closed journal the longer the seconds wore on. Santana warily pulled herself up the bed, never breaking her gaze. Quinn's breaths came out in short bursts, but she didn't make any attempt to move or stop Santana's daring advances as she came to a rest, her knees either side of her legs.

Reaching a hand out, Santana gently gripped the journal, pulling until Quinn released her hold. She leaned over and discarded it on the bedside table, which brought their bodies closer, Santana feeling the heat coming off of Quinn's skin in waves. It washed over her, creating a thick haze over her mind until all she could see was Quinn.

Slowly bringing hers hands up, she began popping the buttons on her light shirt, one at time as she gauged her reaction. She only seemed nervous, her expression holding no signs of wanting her to stop. Santana's right hand supported her weight while her left did all the work, the blonde using her own to prop herself up. Santana pushed the shirt aside, experimentally running her fingers over her stomach, barely touching the tiny hairs that stood up all over her skin until she reached Quinn's black lace bra.

"That wasn't in my dream," she husked, brushing her fingertips over the material, and watching the girl shiver under her touch. Santana dipped her head down until her lips connected to the skin just above the bra line, her mind clearing of all thought. Quinn scrunched her fists into the comforter, trying her best not to touch Santana, her knuckles going white.

_This has to be a dream._

She pulled back only to lean into her, placing her hands either side of Quinn's body. Santana took her time, not wanting this to be a repeat of the bathroom. She held an inch from those perfect lips, Quinn's eyes falling shut. Spending a moment just breathing her in, Santana waited for her heartbeat to slow before leaning the rest of the way.

It was soft at first, delicate and cautious, both girls not wanting to push too far too soon. Quinn kept her hands at her sides, arching her back further off the bed so she didn't break the contact. Santana hovered over her, her legs either side of Quinn's hips, not even daring to place her weight down on the girl. Using her right hand for support, Santana brought her left up to grip the headboard behind Quinn, turning her head and capturing that bottom lip in her mouth.

_God, you taste good._

Quinn let out a whimper at the delicious contact, slowly massaging her lips over Santana's full ones. Opening her mouth, she swiped her tongue gently across Quinn's top lip, bringing her right hand up to grip the bare skin just above her hip. Santana was about to lean in further, effectively deepening the kiss when Quinn pulled back, shuffling up the bed until she was pressed against the wall.

"I can't do this," she muttered, shaking her head tightly.

_And then I wake up._

Quinn opened her mouth to continue as Santana waited for her to explain her sudden shift. The girl shut it with snap, her hands curling into nervous fists at her sides, Quinn swallowing audibly.

"We both have boyfriends," she stated firmly, not meeting Santana's eye as she continued to hover over the flustered girl.

"No I don't-"

"Well I do," she implored, rolling out from underneath her. "And we're working. We're here for work not to…do _this_."

Quinn was up on her feet, pacing around to the other side of the room, her words coming out in an incoherent rush. She dragged her hands through her hair, turning on her heel to look back at Santana who had flipped onto her back, and was staring at her in amusement. Quinn raked her eyes down her body, before pulling back up and locking on, a hard expression crossing her features.

"I'm reinstating the rules."

"What?" Santana cried, laughing humourlessly. "You can't be serious."

Quinn crossed both her arms and stood indignantly next to the door of the bathroom. Her expression was determined as she began to nod. But her eyes told Santana that just being this close to her was killing her, and that stopping was the last thing on her mind.

"You do remember what happened the last time we tried this, don't you?" Santana edged, a smirk coming across her lips. "Because I distinctly remember you with your hand down m-"

"That's number two," she exclaimed before she could finish her sentence.

"My pants."

A deep red flush crept up Quinn's neck and spread across her cheeks. She tried to hold Santana's gaze, but when she quirked a challenging eyebrow, her façade fell. The girl turned on her heel, and slammed the door to the bathroom closed, the wood vibrating on its hinges. Santana's smirk didn't fade as the sound of Quinn sliding heavily down the thin door reached her ears.

_Game on, Q._

_We'll see how long you last._


	13. II: Rules Of Love

**The Ten Simple Rules**

**1. No staring**

**2. No flirting or sexual innuendos**

_**Unwritten part: No saying anything that makes you want to rip each others' clothes off.**_

**3. No touching**

**4. No hooking up with other people**

**5. No wearing revealing clothing**

_**Unwritten part: Santana can't show excessive cleavage.**_

**6. No sharing a bed**

**7. No confessions concerning the other**

**8. No walking, running, or dancing in the rain**

**9. No saying how much this sucks**

**10. No promises of forever**

* * *

><p>Santana dug her toes into the sand, and let the cool water wash over her heated skin. The afternoon sun was just beginning to spread an orange glow across the horizon, water birds dipping and diving into the surface, and landing part way up the long beach. She breathed in the fresh sea air, a vast contrast to that of the capital. The skies were bright blue rather than a hazy white, and the air was less humid, the breeze whipping her long hair around her face. She could feel the white sand beneath her feet, the waves slowly rolling in.<p>

It was nothing short of beautiful.

Not to say Hanoi hadn't held a certain beauty of its own. But there was something breathtaking about the beachfront Hoi An, with its white sandy shores that bordered the South China Sea and out toward the Pacific Ocean, or so Quinn told her. Santana still thought there were sights to see in Hanoi, foods to try and cultures to experience. She even suggested they both take a day trip out east to Ha Long Bay after perusing Quinn's Lonely Planet that morning. But the blonde simply shook her head and continued to pack. Santana zipped up her bag without protest, trusting Quinn's judgment; not that she had a choice either way.

_And when have I ever had a choice when it comes to you?_

Santana looked over to where Quinn stood, her arms spread wide and her thin white shirt fluttering loosely behind her. The girl was watching the sun slowly drop behind the water in front of them, the sky growing darker with every passing minute. She had that smile on her face that still left Santana breathless, wanting nothing more than to just stand there with her feet buried in the sand and watch her until all the light had gone out.

"This place is amazing," Quinn sighed, keeping her gaze on the water. The orange light danced across its surface and reflected up into those perfect hazel eyes. It lit her whole face up. It was in these moments that Quinn was most beautiful to Santana. The moments where she lost herself in the world, and her walls were down.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," Santana agreed, catching her attention and letting a smirk creep onto her lips. "The view's not too bad either."

Her smirk only grew as the girl just rolled her eyes in response and headed further up the stretch of beach that bordered on the large deck. Santana laughed and turned her back to the water, looking at the pool that spanned the entire length of the resort and backed right onto the sand. Couples and families were out for their late afternoon swim, kids screaming happily as they ran across the wet pavement, before jumping into the pool.

Quinn was becoming smaller and smaller the further she went, but Santana didn't follow, knowing she'd eventually run out of beach and have to turn back. So she wandered over to one of the hotel's many deckchairs, sitting down and leaning back. It creaked under her weight, the wood slightly damp beneath her shorts and light shirt.

Quinn had slowed to a stop a hundred feet or so up the sand, the beach completely deserted except for the two of them. She was staring out over the water again, her arms loosely folded across her chest. Quinn brought a hand up and tucked a few blonde strands behind her ear, before turning to where the darker girl lazed on the chair, their eyes seeming to lock despite the distance.

They stayed like that until Quinn tore her gaze away, and made her way up the small set of paved steps and back toward their room. Santana shook her head and let out a humourless laugh before getting up, remembering she had their only key tucked away in her pocket. She shuffled up the steps that opened out onto the pool's edge, Santana smiling at a little boy as she passed. He returned it shyly, before ducking under the water and swimming away to his father who was over by the poolside bar.

Santana neared the entrance to the main hall, similar to that of a large Cabana with its high ceilings and Balinese style architecture. All the beams and rafters were either wood or bamboo, and the surrounding massage huts and pool umbrellas were made from dried palms.

Like Quinn had said, it was amazing.

Santana crossed the foyer, granite and sandstone statues and lacquered antiques standing in every corner of the open area. The ceiling stretched at least thirty feet in the air, making it feel more like a museum than a resort. She heard laughter as she passed a couple having cocktails at the small bar opposite the concierge, the pair joking with their bartender who was grinning happily back at them. It was only a short walk from there to the one bedroom apartment they shared in the building just across the way.

Santana was completely floored when they'd pulled into the valet just after lunch, not expecting anything this extravagant after their last room in Hanoi. But Quinn simply shrugged and handed her bag to the bellboy that was waiting by the hotel's entrance, telling her that surprisingly enough it was the same price as their previous accommodation, which shocked her even further.

Grabbing onto the railing, Santana slowly made her way up to the second floor of their small cluster of units. Each of them divided into honeymoon and family size suites, and separated by long rows of palm trees and paved stone pathways. As it turns out Holly in all her matchmaking wisdom had booked a couple's suite for the girls, rather than two singles, much to the blonde's annoyance. Naturally she'd argued it with the hotel's staff, but to no avail, making Santana want to kiss Holly and all her brilliance.

_That woman will never cease to amaze._

Quinn was waiting at the top of the stairs when she approached her. She still had her arms folded across her chest and an indifferent expression on her face. Santana smiled at her, throwing her the set of keys and letting her open the door that she was all too eager to do. She swung it wide and dumped the ring of keys on the small dresser near the entrance. Santana flopped down on the king size bed, the white sheets cool against her skin as Quinn crossed the tiled foyer to the large bathroom opposite.

"I don't suppose you want any company?" Santana asked innocently, propping herself up on her elbows and trying to keep the smirk from her face. Quinn shook her head in disbelief, trying to hide the smallest of smiles that graced her lips. With one last look at Santana, she grabbed the door before slamming it shut behind her.

_I'll take that as a no._

* * *

><p>She could smell a mix of incense and massage oils as traditional Vietnamese music played softly from the speakers in the corner. The midmorning sun streamed in through the high windows that covered the whole right wall, casting bright yellow light onto the wood panelling to their left. Both girls sat patiently in the waiting room of the spa, Santana leaning her back against the soft leather and crossing her bare legs. Out the corner of her eye she noticed Quinn's gaze shift slightly, only to land back on the beauty magazine she was slowly flipping through. The brunette's lips turned up at the small movement, leaning back further and taking a sip of the lemonade that was set down in front of her.<p>

Even though they had moved cities, Quinn was still slow to get inspired. Santana had to keep reminding herself that they were there for work, and not to just go on a vacation at Holly's expense. But it was getting harder for Santana to keep that in mind, finding that she was falling back into familiar routines the more time they spent together. She had to consciously stop herself from just rolling into the girl's sleeping form the previous night, not having felt Quinn's warmth in that way for years. And she had to force herself not to slip her hand into hers as they crossed the foyer that morning to book a transfer into town, Santana shoving her hands into her denim shorts as she walked.

_Goddamn fucking rules._

She may not have been prepared to break them so blatantly, but that didn't stop her from trying to get Quinn to do the same. Leaning her chin on the palm of her hand, Santana turned her attention to the girl next to her. She watched her closely as Quinn's hand tighten on the glossy page, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as she continued to stare.

Santana knew what she was doing was nothing short of torture, but she didn't see the point in these rules. She didn't see it three years ago, nor does she see it now. After all this time, she never understood the girl's constant hesitation. She never understood why letting herself be loved was so hard for her to do. And maybe it was Santana's fault for never questioning it, or for never calling her out. But one thing's for sure, she wasn't playing Quinn's games anymore.

_I'm done._

They weren't due to be picked up for a few hours from the front desk, Santana suggesting they kill time at the hotel's spa after spotting a menu on the nightstand that morning. Quinn had looked at her sceptically, but Santana had feigned innocence, telling her it was completely up to her. The girl huffed, but didn't do more than shrug, following her from the foyer and up the stairs that lead to the spa just around the corner.

"Santana and Quinn?"

"Yeah?" Quinn responded, dropping her magazine to the coffee table and practically jumping up from the couch. A mild aged woman had just come from the hallway to their left, wearing cream scrubs with the resort logo on the pocket, her eyes crinkling in the corners. She stood back and motioned for both girls to come with her.

"This way, please."

Santana waited for Quinn to go first, both girls following the woman back down the hall. The pine coloured panels continued into the back of the spa, and to a small alcove with a set of lockers and a wooden bench. There was a curtain divider that hung from the ceiling, the woman gesturing for them to enter while she instructed them further.

"Take off all your clothes and put them in the lockers. There is a robe for you to wear, and slippers as well. I'll return once you're changed."

"Wait, everything?" Santana asked sceptically, looking down at her shirt and shorts. "Like naked?"

"Yes, everything," she assured her with a firm nod. Santana looked to Quinn, who seemed to be just as hesitant. The woman bowed slightly and hurried off further down the hall, turning into one of the many rooms. Santana watched her go, before turning back to Quinn.

"This isn't like the happy ending kind, is it?"

"It's a five star resort, Santana."

"So?" she shrugged.

"Just get changed," Quinn sighed, walking over to the furthest curtain and slipping off her shoes. Santana moved to one of the lockers, a tiny key swing from its lock. Turning it, she peered inside, noticing a pair of fluffy white slippers along with some clear cloth underwear. Pulling them out, Santana held them up and showed them to Quinn.

"What the actual fuck?"

Quinn looked up from where she'd sat down on the small bench, letting out a laugh that was halfway between a chuckle and a snort, Santana not able to stop the smile that spread across her face.

"It looks like they've just cut holes in a hair net," she mused, stretching the elastic experimentally.

"This was your idea," Quinn reminded her, standing up and placing her shoes in her locker.

"Yeah, but I didn't know we'd be wearing disposable panties."

Quinn just shook her head and pulled the thin sheet along its rings once she'd retrieved her set of clothes, the metal clinking together lightly. Santana began getting undressed, lifting her t-shirt over her head and dropping it to the tiled floor. She stripped off the rest of her clothes quickly, and pulled the questionable underwear on beneath her white robe.

When she returned to the locker, Quinn was already placing her neatly folded clothes into the space next to hers. She had her eyes inside the locker, removing her rings, and her crystal bracelet she got in Vienna. Santana placed her shirt and shorts in her own, but couldn't help her eyes wandering down the curve of Quinn's bare neck, and down toward the V of her robe. Her skin looked so perfect and soft, making her mouth go dry and sending a familiar ache between her legs. Santana swung her locker shut without removing her gaze, a sharp pain shooting up her hand and finishing at the top of her shoulder.

"Ow, fuck."

Santana jerked her hand back, the skin of her fingers getting pinched in the metal door. She brought them up to her mouth and sucked lightly until the throbbing subsided.

"Serves you right," Quinn mumbled, turning her key and walking down the hall where the woman was now waiting. Santana could hear the laughter in her voice as she followed after her and into a room to their left. There were two women inside the small room, both standing beside massage tables, each with friendly smiles on their faces. They motioned for them to lie down, the women lifting a towel off the bed and holding it up for them to lie beneath. Santana, with her back facing Quinn, removed her robe quickly and slipped under the warm towel, face down.

Santana didn't know what to expect from this. She'd never received a professional massage in her life. She hadn't even let her exes in high school touch her when they offered, thinking it would be a one-way ticket into her pants. So when warm hands touched her bare skin, she melted. She had to do her best not to moan, biting her lip just to stifle any sounds that might escape. It was like heaven, Santana not wanting this feeling to ever end. With every stroke of the woman's fingers, and with every need of her palm, she sunk further into the table. All thought escaped her, other than the occasional expletive that her mind would conjure up every few minutes.

_Best. Idea. Ever._

"Could you turn over for me, please?"

Santana had to blink a few times before she registered the words, the soft music and the woman's movements making her drift off. She was holding the large towel off of her skin so she could flip over comfortably without having to get up. Santana shifted, looking over at Quinn for the first time since she entered the room. She was being repositioned as well, a soft smile on her face. Santana could tell she was enjoying herself even though she seemed reluctant at first. She settled back with grin, her eyes fixed on the canvas ceiling above.

Firm fingers slid down her temples, massaging in small circles, causing her eyes to fall shut and thrusting her into to darkness. It was so calming. The sound of falling water met her ears mixed with the soft murmuring of the women as they chatted amongst themselves. Those fingers soon moved down and around to the back of her neck, dragging up into her hairline.

_Getting Quinn to do this to me is definitely on my list._

The stray thought sent heat pooling in between Santana's legs. And with those hands still making tight circles into her neck, it just made things awkward. Santana tried to think of other, less appealing things as those hands reached lower and lower, her mind going to trees, and sand, and anything that would take her mind off her own growing libido. But all thought went straight out the window when the warm towel was pulled down to her waist and a rush of cool air washed over her bare skin. It sent goose bumps all over her chest, and hardened some rather embarrassing areas. The hands began to get a little too close for Santana's comfort, her mind becoming white noise.

_Whoa, so that's why they made us sign a consent form._

"Ay ay, eyes closed."

The heavily accented voice didn't come from near her head, Santana quirking an eyebrow at the sound. But the next voice made it hard not to laugh out loud, Santana doing a mental checking of rule number five.

"Sorry," Quinn chimed in.

"Serves you right," Santana mumbled, not able to help herself.

"Shut up."

* * *

><p>Sweat dripped from her every pore, drenching her neck and back. She couldn't escape it. No amount of shade, or fanning helped. The sun beat down relentlessly on the dusty street, locals and tourists crowding the roadside stalls. There was a mass of bodies everywhere they turned with nowhere to go from the heat that seemed to just hang stagnant in the air.<p>

"This is fucking ridiculous," Santana whined. "Why isn't it this bad back at the hotel?"

Quinn pushed through the crowd ahead of her, the locals constant heckling like background noise at this point. The girl spun on her heel and simply shrugged her shoulders in response, a small grin on her face. That smile made Santana forget even for a moment about the chaos that surrounded them. It made her scowl fade, the brunette fighting off her own smile as she followed Quinn into the thick of it.

Once they left the spa, the pair boarded the van that was waiting to take them and a few others into town. As it sped through the streets of Hoi An, the scenery outside the window changed from white sandy beaches and palms to small shacks and narrow streets. The buildings were boxy with flaking paint, and were made from cemented brick and corrugated iron, and others from vanished wood. Santana had to admit it was quite a contrast from their resort, but it was beautiful all the same, and reminded her of parts of Italy in some ways.

The streets were cracked and long, shaded by red cedar trees that casted shadows the whole way up the stretches of road as the sun shined through the leaves. It looked peaceful and cool from their seat in the back of the van, but as soon as they were dropped off by a large taxi rank, the heat hit them, soaking their skin instantly. The hotel's driver had marked out points of interest on a small map he hand the girls, the central markets being the closest. They were chaotic and crowded, tourists and locals all filtering down the long stretch of shaded alleyway. The constant noise merged together until it was just incoherent chatter, the sound ringing in Santana's ears.

There were ducks and chickens in small metal cages, a man shoving one in the face of everyone that passed by. Small shops with lacquered goods and kitchenware branched off behind the endless stalls, the owners enticing customers with cold water and air conditioning. But it was all the same. Every few stalls were selling identical souvenirs, each boasting how theirs were better than the last. There was the strong smell of spices and raw fish in the air, mixed with the scent of the unwashed. It wasn't pleasant, but it was manageable, Santana continuing to follow Quinn as she weaved through the masses.

The constant crowd was getting under Santana's skin. That coupled with the heat, and she was ready to just get out, out to the street and away from the markets. She wasn't entirely sure what Quinn was looking for. They'd been in Vietnam four days already, and the girl just seemed to be wandering. And after spending those three weeks with her in Europe, it was a lot to get used to. Surprisingly enough, Santana had never read anything Quinn had written before, aside from her journal. So she had no idea what constituted as noteworthy when it came to the blonde. But she was definitely searching for something beyond what was right in front of them.

Santana watched as a woman with greasy hair wheeled an old motorbike past her and into a storefront to her left. She propped it against a freestanding shelf, before wandering out back. Once she disappeared behind a closed door, Santana moved her gaze back to the street to see blonde hair slip just out of view.

_You've got to be shitting me._

Panicked, Santana jogged through the crowd, pushing though until she spotted her by a stall selling bamboo noodle bowls and chopsticks. Huffing, she walked up to her and grabbed her just below the elbow. Quinn jumped in surprise, but the darker girl didn't notice as she dragged her through the markets. She could feel her resisting and her feet fumbling behind her, but she didn't let go until they hit the other side and broke out onto the empty street.

"You right there?" Quinn deadpanned.

"Am now."

Dropping her arm, Santana began to wander along the road that was practically deserted in comparison. There was a river to her left, brown ducks floating on the water, dipping their heads under every few seconds. She breathed in the fresh air, sighing in momentary relief. The heat hadn't gotten any better outside of the markets. It still stuck to her skin and laboured her breath, but it was a start.

She turned around to see Quinn watching her carefully. They'd been walking for at least two blocks, aimlessly wandering with no purpose, or direction. She seemed to be waiting for a further explanation, or response as to why she was just manhandled a few moments ago, but Santana just shrugged and turn back to the road.

A river system weaved its way through the markets and tailor shops that lined the streets, people on pushbikes and on foot going about their day. Quinn took her Nikon from around her neck and began taking photos of the buildings they passed. Santana had fallen back into step with her, content to just watch her work.

"What are looking for?" she asked curiously, pulling her small backpack higher on her shoulder. Quinn brought the camera back from her face, a smile on her lips. She shrugged sheepishly, Santana melting a little at the sight.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It's different every place I go. But I guess you could say something unique. Something you don't do, or see every day."

"Like rafting down a ice cold river, or seeing a live sex show?"

Quinn giggled, her eyes glazing over slightly as they continued down the road. Santana watched as that smile tugged at her mouth, her mind somewhere else. After a moment Quinn's gaze flicked back to her, that smile not fading.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Exactly like that."

Santana nodded to herself before skipping past her, plucking her camera from her grasp as she went.

"Santana," Quinn chastised. "Come on."

She held out a hand, but Santana simply grinned and brought it up to her face. Quinn shook her head as the shutter went off. After a beat, that smile came back to her face, Santana taking another photo of her, a crowded restaurant in the background. A blush came across her heated cheeks, Quinn looking away bashfully as Santana continued to click away. It was very endearing, and aside from that smile, it was Santana's favourite look on her.

Ever since she'd met her, Quinn had always shied away from the spotlight. She blushed when she received compliments, or just simply rolled her eyes, almost like she didn't believe them. And maybe growing up she never heard them enough, or heard them too often for them to seem genuine. But whatever the reason, anytime Santana saw her in those moments she fell in love all over again.

Santana smiled a little, before bring the camera down from her face and looking at the small LCD screen. Quinn had begun looking in a storefront window, the street they'd just turned on completely deserted except for a man carrying a basket of fruit going in the opposite direction. Santana wasn't more than a few feet from her, the girl picking up a straw hat and looking at her reflection in a small mirror that hung on one of the store's beams.

"You're so beautiful."

Quinn was caught off guard by the effortless admission, turning on Santana with wide eyes. She removed the hat and placed it back on the rack in front of her. She opened her mouth to protest, but Santana just smiled at her with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"Statement of fact," she said simply, smirking as Quinn's blush deepened, Santana handing her black Nikon back to her and wandering off further down the street.

"Gotta love that loophole," she shot over her shoulder, laughing when her words were met with a frustrated sigh. Santana spun back around, Quinn following her with a playful scowl on her face. "I could pretty much tell you I love you at this point, and still not be breaking a rule, right?"

"Technically," Quinn digressed, crossing her arms across her chest. "But you're still breaking number two by talking about it."

"But you forget that you already saw me naked this morning," she teased. "Though the spa lady was the one that did the undressing."

"Kill me now."

* * *

><p>"So, have you found something worth writing about?"<p>

Santana eyed Quinn across the small table, bringing her red napkin up to her mouth. The girl just shrugged, playing absently with the saltshaker, their empty plates discarded in front of them.

"Not yet," she sighed. "But we still have Saigon further south, so who knows, right?"

They were sitting opposite each other at one of the hotel's three restaurants, the night sky a clear deep blue. The cicadas were out in abundance, their constant chirping filling the silence. There was only one other table besides their own at the restaurant, a man and a woman who looked to be on their honeymoon sitting huddled together and looking out over the water. Everyone else was at the poolside deck, the resort putting on a barbeque and live band for its guests, the girls able to see it from their table. Quinn had suggested they go, but after the day they had Santana just wanted a little alone time away from the crowds. Quinn had just nodded, not fazed either way.

The young man that had been serving them all night came over to their table with a shy smile on his face. He placed a plate down in front of Quinn, before removing the others and stepping back.

"Your dessert, Miss," he said, bowing at the waist. He mustn't have been older than eighteen, the boy looking at Quinn with hopeful eyes and a wide smile.

"Thank you," she grinned, making him blush and back away.

Santana had been watching this happen the whole night. He would come up to them all giddy, refilling their drinks and asking them about their day. His eyes were always on Quinn as he spoke, Santana choosing to find it amusing. The blonde was polite, flashing him that smile every time he was near.

After he returned inside the main part of the restaurant, Santana quirked an eyebrow at Quinn, a teasing smirk on her lips. Quinn noticed her reaction, and returned her sentiment. The brunette just continued to smirk back at her, mouthing _number four_ while stealing some of Quinn's ice cream.

"Hey," Quinn retorted, trying to whack her spoon away with her own. "And I'm not going to have sex with him," she staged whispered. "Or _anyone_ for that matter. Besides, you're the one who's been breaking the rules, ever since we left Hanoi."

"Please," Santana scoffed in amusement. "I've only broken the one about showing cleavage, and it's like a hundred degrees out, so you can sit there and like it."

"But you _can_ help the flirting," she countered, bringing a spoonful of vanilla to her mouth.

Santana stared back at her, but didn't respond. Instead she turned her head away to the pool's deck, and to the cheering that had erupted into the night sky. She could see the band members bowing for the crowd, before another song started up. It was a few minutes before they acknowledge each other again, the young waiter coming back over with a tiny clipboard. When Santana turned her attention back to the table, she noted Quinn had finished her dessert and was just playing with the spoon in her hand. The boy gave Santana the bill, holding out a pen for her to sign with. She scribbled a quick signature and jotted down their room number so their dinner could be charged to their account, before handing it back with a smile.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," he bade, bowing and hurrying off.

They were silent on the way back to their room, Quinn folding her arms across her chest as they walked. They got changed in silence, and also brushed their teeth in silence. But when Quinn jumped under the covers and turned her back to Santana, the brunette couldn't hold out any longer, feeling the iciness since they'd left the restaurant.

"Are you mad at me?" she whispered.

The room was dark, the full moon not providing much light through the sheer curtains. It was rather eerie if Santana was honest. It was a beat before she heard Quinn sigh, the sheets rustling faintly.

"No, I'm not mad at you," she murmured without much feeling. "I just- can we drop it, please?"

_Just like we do every other time I try to talk to you about something meaningful._

_And you wonder why I flirt._

_It's all I have left after that._

"Sure," Santana mumbled, before rolling over to face the wall. "Goodnight, Quinn."

"Night."

* * *

><p>Santana slipped her Ray Bans over her eyes, shielding herself from the bright sunlight that seemed to go hand in hand in this country. She pressed the shuffle on her iPod, flicking through the songs until she reached one she recognized. She smiled to herself as the intro guitar riff started, settling further into her wooden deckchair. She began to hum along, adjusting the strings on her red bikini top as a small boy ran past her, dripping a trail of water across the pavement.<p>

"_So are you going to tell me what comes next, or am I just supposed to know?_" Santana sung softly, smirking slightly at the lyrics. "_Do I make my own decisions here, or am I under your control?_"

Quinn looked up from her journal, her pen stilling on the white page. She had her aviators on the tip of her nose, eyeing Santana curiously from the deckchair next to her. Santana ignored her, continuing to sing along. From the corner of her eye she saw her shake her head softly and look back down at the journal, her pen resuming it's scribbling.

When they had woken up that morning, it was like the previous night hadn't happened. Santana was starting to think Quinn had some kind of reset time delay, the brunette expecting to wake up to the same strange iciness from the girl. But she'd just rolled out of bed, telling her _good morning_ before taking a shower, Santana staring wearily after her, still half asleep.

They'd gone about their morning as usual. Quinn called Holly after she got out of the shower, while Santana watched a strange Korean game show on MTV Asia. Santana kept waiting for her to revert back to the closed off girl from the previous night, but she should have known better. This was Quinn. She swept every bad feeling under the rug. But Santana couldn't hold it against her, the girl had to learn from a young age to shut all of it out. It did make Santana wonder what kind of girl Quinn would have been if her parents were halfway normal. But then again, she probably never would have had the motivation to leave Bellville in the first place.

_And then I would have never met you._

"_There's just this thing about cha_," Santana trailed off, the song ending.

She leant forward off her chair, pulling out her earplugs and placing them on the small table between them. She stretched her arms and legs experimentally, before leaning over to her tube of suntan lotion. She squeezed a decent amount into her left palm, before applying it to her heated skin, keeping an eye on Quinn as she did. The girl peered over her notebook again, taking a deep breath before diverting her eyes. Her reaction didn't go unnoticed, Santana smirking slightly as she ran her hands down her legs.

"Would you mind?" she asked after a minute, gesturing to her back.

Quinn dropped the open journal to her chest and just stared at the girl, a perplexed expression on her face. Santana knew she was testing her, and part of her was asking just to mess with the blonde, but she really did need help.

"Come on," she coaxed. "I can't reach. Are you really going to let me burn?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, before closing her book and standing up. She took the few short steps over to Santana, and sat down on the edge of her chair. She reluctantly grabbed the offered lotion, putting some in her hand as Santana tried to hide her grin. Facing away from her, Santana looked out over the side of the pool, and toward the outdoor bar. Her skin began tingling even before those hands touched her, feeling Quinn's body heat radiating down her back.

She felt the cold sun cream, before two warm hands began to sweep across her shoulders. She shivered involuntarily at the contact, feeling the girl's palms lather the lotion over skin and down under her bikini strap. She could hear Quinn's measured breaths, Santana closing her eyes and concentrating on the feeling of those hands. It was so much better than the spa the day before, Santana putting that down to the person who was doing the massaging, rather than the massage itself.

"That feels really good," Santana breathed after a moment, her eyes falling shut.

"Oh God."

Those hands instantly retracted from her back, Santana feeling the chair creaking as Quinn stood up. She was about to turn around and offer to do hers when she heard the distinct sound of water breaking, and the unmistakable splash of it hitting her skin. Santana closed the tube of sun cream and spun to see the girl over the other side of the pool, her arms leaning against the paved ledge facing the ocean. Santana quirked an eyebrow and just shook her head.

_Well, that's one way to take a cold shower._

* * *

><p>Santana collapsed onto the king-size bed, small droplets still coating her neck and chest. They soaked into the white sheets, leaving damp patches across its surface. Santana simply shrugged and lazed back as the mattress dipped beside her, Quinn lying down, her short hair dripping water onto the pillow. She let her eyes fall shut, the look on her face so serene and peaceful, like she was in her own world. And knowing Quinn, she probably was. Santana began to wonder what thoughts and images were playing behind those lids, and whether they were of her, or if they had drifted to thoughts of someone else.<p>

The light outside their room had turned from a bright orange to a sombre blue, the sun falling behind a cluster of white clouds. It sent a cool breeze through their open balcony doors that looked out onto the pool, and beyond to the beach. She could hear the distant sound of insects and of childish laughter outside their room. But lying next to Quinn's near naked body was drowning out the din as she watched a tiny droplet slowly slide down Quinn's cheek, her body aching to just reach out and catch it.

_I want to touch you so badly._

Quinn noticed her staring, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. She smiled shyly, but kept her gaze on the ceiling fan above them as it spun around and around. But Santana didn't take her eyes off her. She let them wander down her body, over her navy blue bikini top, and down toward her toned stomach, before training them on her perfect hipbones that stuck out slightly above her bottoms. So much about Quinn made Santana's head swim, the brunette remembering what it felt like to kiss that skin, and run her fingertips over every tiny freckle.

"Please stop."

Quinn's hands grabbed the loose bed sheet and pulled it up over her body, causing Santana to look up at her. Quinn tried to keep her gaze on the fan. Her eyes held a certain level of trepidation, like she was more self-conscious than concerned with the rules. With a sigh, Santana propped her head up on her elbow and turned on her side to face the girl.

"Close your eyes for me?"

Quinn snapped her head towards Santana, a look of total surprise on her face. She had her mouth open ready to object, but something in Santana's eyes must have pulled her up short, Quinn swallowing her words. Santana's intentions weren't to break the rules. She only wanted her to stop being so guarded. But after a moment Quinn returned her gaze to the ceiling, shaking her head softly.

"I'm not going to close them."

The girl could easily have sat up and moved to the couch, or even crossed the room to the shower and closed the door. She could have shut Santana out. But instead she stayed lying next to her, refusing to look in her direction, or down to her near naked form.

"Please?"

Santana leaned closer to her on the bed, Quinn swallowing heavily. She knew she was making her nervous by the way her hands tightened on the white sheet. But after a while she let out a strangled breath and let her eyes fall shut. Santana waited until she relaxed, the girl's breathing levelling out and her grip loosening. Using the hand that wasn't holding her head, Santana reached over and began pulling down the sheet again.

"Santana," Quinn whimpered, her hands moving to grip the cotton hem. She kept her eyes closed, but her brow was furrowed in protest.

"Trust me," Santana pleaded, not letting go.

Slowly she moved her hands back to her sides and let her pull it down completely. Santana's heart began to pick up, her breaths becoming laboured. Her eyes wandered over every inch of her skin. She could feel Quinn's body heat as she edged closer until they were almost touching.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked after a minute, her voice trembling. Santana smiled even though she knew she wouldn't be able to see it.

"Relax," she urged, watching as the girl's chest continued to rise heavily. "I'm not doing anything."

She reached out a hand and began running her fingers over her skin without touching, or even grazing her. Santana watched as goose bumps began to rise over her stomach and down her arms, a small smile crossing her lips. She moved further down her stomach, barely brushing the tiny blonde hairs that stood on end all over her skin, the girl's muscles tensing under her fingertips.

"I'm not staring at you."

Santana looked back up at the girl, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. She looked so perfect and innocent. Santana's whole body ached just to touch her, but she kept in control, knowing that if she did this moment would break and the outside world would come rushing back in. And they didn't need that right now, _Santana_ didn't need that right now. What she needed was to just lie next to the girl she loved and just be.

She leant down and blew a tiny droplet of water across her olive skin, watching as it slid down her stomach and pooled in her navel. Another shiver spread over her, Quinn letting out whimper and biting down harder on her full bottom lip. Santana straightened up, before reaching out her pinky and trailing the tiny pool of water further down her abdomen.

"I'm not touching you."

Her every nerve ending was alive. Every sweep of her hand sent a tingling across her whole body, and every breath across Quinn's skin sent an ache to her chest. It was maddening being this close to her. But Quinn didn't move an inch. She kept her eyes closed and her hands by her side.

"I'm not doing anything."

The girl took in a sharp breath, startling her slightly. Her body tensed just as Santana neared the swell of her chest, the heat from her hand washing over her.

"I thought you blacked out?" she whispered though it sound constricted like there was a lump high in her throat that she was trying to breathe around. Santana paused her hand, quirking her eyebrow at the girl's words.

"What do you mean?"

"That night in Amsterdam," Quinn prompted. "You told me you didn't remember the ride home."

Santana's hand hovered over her chest as her thoughts went back to that night all those years ago. Back then a clouded haze hung over that memory. But the distinct feeling of heat and electricity, followed by flashing lights flooded her mind. As hard as she tried, Santana couldn't remember anything specific about that night, and that sent a different kind of ache to her chest.

"I…I don't," she murmured, retracting her hand.

Quinn snapped her eyes open and fixed them on Santana. She had the strangest expression on her face, like she was seeing something clearly for the first time. Like she only now realized something. And it made the pit of Santana stomach turn uncomfortably, and made her feel like she was the one that was exposed.

"Come here."

It was said so suddenly that Santana at first thought she had only imagined it. But Quinn sat up on her elbows and continued to stare at her with that honesty shining through her eyes. Santana swallowed thickly, not sure where this sudden shift had come from.

"Why?"

"Just do it before I change my mind," Quinn pleaded almost painfully.

Unsure of what she was asking, Santana edged closer to her on the bed. Quinn looked at her with scared eyes, reaching out and slowly brushing her hand along her jaw. The soft touch left a burning across her skin, Santana sighing and leaning into her hand. And in that moment, the blonde seemed to decide something, her eyes not quite meeting hers.

At first Santana thought she only wanted to hug her. But she was taken aback when the girl began to lie back down, pulling Santana with her. She didn't say a word, her heavy breathing the only sound in the room. And as soon as Santana's skin connected with Quinn's it was like something inside her lifted, making her feel weightless. Her heart was thudding beneath her chest as her skin was flush against Quinn's in every way possible.

She settled between her legs as Quinn's warm arms wrapped around her neck and held her tightly. A sudden rush of emotion came over her, making it hard for her to think, or breath. Here was a girl that rarely showed any deep emotion holding her so tightly like if she let go Santana would disappear, or cease to exist. It was the most amazing feeling. It washed away all the bad memories, all the mistakes, and the regrets, and the what if's. She felt like she was home. If this were to be the rest of her life, laying her with Quinn, it would be enough.

Santana's nose bumped the side of her jaw, breathing in the smell of chlorine, and a scent that was just Quinn. She could feel every breath the girl took, and every movement she made. They fit so perfectly together like their bodies were made to hold one another. She moved her arms up underneath her shoulders until her fingertips grazed the nape of Quinn's neck, threading her fingers through her still damp hair.

After a while, she could start to feel her eyes getting heavy, her body content to just lie there with Quinn warm and close. She turned her head into the groove just above her collarbone, barely brushing her lips across the soft skin. She felt her shiver beneath her and heard a soft sigh right by her ear, Santana nuzzling further into the crook of her neck.

It felt like they'd just been lying in each other's embrace for hours though the light outside hadn't moved. Santana didn't know exactly what was happening, or what prompted Quinn to break the rules like this, but she was too happy to question it. But the look on the blonde's face when she'd pulled her in still confused her. It only appeared once she had finished speaking, like her words had stirred something within her.

"I wish I could remember that night," Santana mumbled into her neck, her fingers still absently playing with the girl's hair. "I wish I could remember telling you that I loved you."

Only silence met her ears, along with the distant sound of waves crashing against the sand. She could hear the sound of laughter, and the sting of the cicadas. And she could hear Quinn's soft breathing as it hit her shoulder, before those arms tightened around her neck.

"Me too."

* * *

><p>Santana woke to the sound of knocking. It was faint but repetitive as it drummed in her left ear, her right pressed tightly against the side of Quinn's jaw. She lifted her head with a groan, and untangled herself from Quinn. The girl stirred gently, but didn't do more than turn her head the other way and continue to snore softly.<p>

The sun was still peaking over the horizon as Santana yawned, wandering over to the front door. She turned the metal lock and popped it open to be confronted with a small woman and a big smile. She bowed, holding out fresh towels, before pushing past Santana who stood slightly shocked in the doorway. She crossed the tiled floor into the bathroom, coming out moments later with their old towels draped across her arm. Looking down, Santana noticed she still had on her red bikini from earlier, suddenly feeling self-conscious in the woman's presence.

The short woman kept the smile on her face the whole time until she looked over to the bed. It faltered slightly, her eyebrows knitting together when she spotted Quinn who was still dozing softly, her bare skin completely on display. Santana looked back to the woman who appeared to have frozen, wide-eyed on the spot. But before the brunette could get a word in, she'd began to bow and mutter under her breath.

"Sorry, sorry," she repeated over and over as she backed away toward the door.

"Oh, it's not what it looks like," Santana tried to explain before she could stop herself.

_Wait, why am I defending myself to the cleaning lady?_

The sudden commotion must have woken Quinn as she sat bolt upright on the bed, the sheet now pulled up under her chin. The woman looked up and shifted her gaze between the two girls, finally registering what Santana had said.

"So, same, same?" she asked, a very hopeful look on her face.

Santana had no clue what she was talking about. But the woman kept switching between the girls, the dirty towels clutched to her chest like a safety blanket. Santana suddenly felt like she was back home, the metal image of her mother chastising her clear in her mind, and she hadn't the faintest idea why. She was about to ask the question when Quinn jumped in from her spot across the room.

"Just say yes."

"Um, yeah," Santana mumbled, turning back to her. "Same, same."

The woman's smile only grew as she backed the rest of the way out the door, closing it behind her. Slightly shell-shocked, Santana spun around and stared at Quinn, unsure of what just transpired in the foyer of their apartment.

"What was that all about?"

Quinn shifted uncomfortably, readjusting the loose sheet. Santana stood in the entryway waiting for a response, crossing her arms over her chest as she did. After a moment Quinn opened her mouth, her voice reserved and slightly thoughtful.

"She was asking if we were sisters," Quinn explained, her eyes not quite meeting hers.

"Okay, let me just forget for a second that we look _nothing_ alike," she deadpanned. "Why did I just tell the help we're related?"

"It's just easier," Quinn sighed. "What we are is taboo here. I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable."

Her eyes were on her hands, the sheet pooled loosely in her lap. She could see that it wasn't just the woman who was uncomfortable. Quinn wouldn't even look at her, worrying her teeth against her bottom lip, deep in thought. Santana began to nod absently, walking over to the dresser by the door and leaning against it heavily.

"And what exactly are we?"

It was a question she felt she'd asked a thousand times, but one she never got a black or white answer to. It was always answered with an_ I don't know,_ or was dodged completely. It was part of their problem. Santana had no doubt in her mind about her feelings towards Quinn; she was in love with her, and always would be. But Quinn had not once spoken out about her feelings; it was rule number seven after all. So when Santana looked up to meet her eye, she was surprised to see Quinn looking thoughtfully back at her, a scared smile on her lips.

"There are some things about us that I don't know," she began. "And there are some things that I do. One thing I do know is that when I'm with you I feel like a different version of myself than when I'm with-" Quinn stopped midsentence, a pained look on her face. But after a beat she continued, her eyes back on her lap. "Than when I'm with anyone else."

They both could hear her say it, she didn't have to say his name out loud for it to be ringing in Santana's ears. Her heart felt heavy. She didn't know if what Quinn was saying was a good, or a bad thing. There were so many questions churning around in Santana's already confused mind, but none of them led down a path she wanted to explore. All of them brought her to an ultimatum, one she was scared for Quinn to make.

"By the way, you suck at playing by the rules," Santana jested, unsure of what to say to fill the deafening silence that seemed to settle over the two girls. She kept her eyes on the wooden floorboards at her feet until Quinn's next words had her looking back up, her heart thudding heavily.

"That's ten other things I know," she murmured, her voice quiet and distant as if she was here, but a part of her was off someplace else.

Santana wasn't used to this Quinn. She was used to the girl who took everything as it came and joked about trivial things. She was used to the girl who would sooner dodge a question than answer it honestly. This version was scaring her even though she had wished for her for God knows how long.

"I know that I can't take my eyes off you," she started rather shakily, a lump already forming high in Santana's throat. "I know I always seem to say the wrong thing, or rather can never say the _right_ thing."

She laughed though it came out as more of strangled choke. Santana stayed near the dresser, tightening her grip on the wooden lip, her knuckles turning a shade of white.

"I know that I can't help but touch you whenever you're near," Quinn continued after a beat, her fists bunching in the white sheet. "And that when I'm with you, I can't think about anyone else. I know that whenever I see _you_, not just the curve of your neck, or when your hair brushes against your bare skin, it makes my heart race and I can't think straight."

Santana let out a shaky breath. She'd wanted to hear these words for so long, yet wanting them and actually hearing them were two different things. Her heart felt like it was going to fall out of her chest. She took small shallow breaths, feeling the pre-sting of tears pulling at the corners of her eyes.

"I know that when I lie next to you, I can't help but hold you," Quinn choked, her bottom lip trembling slightly. "And that I'm scared to be vulnerable around you and let you in."

She brought her eyes to the ceiling and took a calming breath, before returning them to Santana, a sad smile on her lips. Her cheeks were flushed red, and her fingers wouldn't stop fiddling with the white bed sheet. Santana couldn't do anything, or say anything. She just stood stock-still, her throat closing tighter and tighter with every confession.

_That's seven._

"I know that your sexiness level sky rockets when it's raining," she teased. "And that I would do anything just to see you smile."

_That's nine._

"And lastly," she breathed, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I know that nearly six thousand miles from here there is a lock on an old bridge, that just the thought of removing it…I can't breathe."

_Ten._

"Those are the things I know," she finished, taking in a deep breath. "But even after all that, there are some things that I don't. I don't know what the future holds for us. I don't know what I'm going to do when we get back to New York. I don't know a lot of things. But I _do_ know that I need you to let me figure them out."

And it was if something clicked. After everything they'd been through, after all those years, how was it only sinking in now?

What Quinn wanted was time, nothing more, nothing less.

It was that simple.

"And that's why the rules," Santana mused mostly to herself, though she said it loud enough for Quinn to hear.

"Yeah," she breathed.

Santana began to nod absently, pushing off from the dresser. She paced to the couch, feeling Quinn's eyes on her as she crossed the room. She sat down on the leather, not quite meeting her gaze.

All this time Santana never understood Quinn's hesitation towards her. A part of her always thought it was something she was doing wrong. She _knew_ that the girl loved her; she could see it in her eyes when she spoke, and she'd read the words a million times. But every time she convinced herself, the doubt would set in, and those damn rules would rear their ugly head, making her think that she was the one at fault.

_But all she needed was time._

_Something we didn't have three years ago._

_Something we have now._

"Look on the bright side," Santana said, finally looking back up, her eyes glassy. "You only broke like number three, five, and six, and maybe a bit of seven. We've done worse."

"And seven again just now."

"Two as well, but that's not your fault," Santana teased, watching as that smile she loved so much lit up her face. "Guess I'm following the rules now, huh?"

Quinn nodded sadly, her smile slowly falling away. Santana didn't pretend to know what was going through her head; she _never_ pretended to. All she could do was watch her, and wait, and take measured guesses. She was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery.

_But you're _my_ puzzle._

"Could I ask one thing, since we're kind of already breaking the rules, and because I don't know when I'll be able to again?" Santana stood up from the couch, keeping her eyes on her as she took a step closer to the bed. Quinn seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding.

"Kiss me?"

"San-"

"Just once," she pleaded. "And then I'll play by the rules."

Santana knew what she was asking for. It went against everything they'd just spoken about. But if she was going to let Quinn figure out the unknown, if she was going to give her space, then she didn't want their last kiss to be a forceful breaking down of barriers, or one where Quinn was backing away from her and shutting her out. She knew what she wanted was selfish. But she also didn't want Quinn to start out with those kisses being the ones to go by.

Quinn hadn't taken her eyes off her. And if Santana wasn't watching her as closely as she had been, she probably would have missed the small, almost non-existent nod she gave. Santana's heart leapt into her throat. She was about to close the distance when Quinn stood up from the bed and started making her way over. Santana let out a shaky breath as she got within a foot of her, her expression unreadable.

Santana didn't know why she was suddenly so nervous; she was getting what she asked for. But as Quinn slid her arms gently around her waist, she couldn't help the goose bumps that rose over her tanned skin, or the hammering that started in her chest. And as Quinn pulled her closer, their skin barely touching, she couldn't help the sting that pulled at her eyes.

_I asked for this._

She slipped her arms around Quinn's neck, steadying herself. Santana could see the brown flecks in her hazel eyes, and the tiny freckles on her nose. She memorized it all, every laugh line and every faint scar as if it was the last time she'd see them this close. But as she leant in, a part of her knew it wouldn't be. And as her eyes fell shut, and she could feel Quinn's warm breath hitting her skin, it was like they never left.

Soft lips brushed against hers, and shot instant tingles down her arms and back, Santana tightening her hold around Quinn's neck. She melted into the kiss, dragging her lips over Quinn's, the tingling filling her chest. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, Santana running her hands through blonde hair. It was all she could do to not let the sting turn into tears. Tilting her head, she took the girl's bottom lip in her mouth and sucked lightly, Quinn moaning softly and pulling her closer.

This kiss wasn't desperate, or rushed. It didn't have to be. It wasn't saying anything other than I love you, and I'll miss you. It had no hidden meaning, or agenda.

It was perfect.

Quinn let a soft sigh escape as she broke the kiss, leaning her forehead against Santana's. "That's one, right?" she said, slightly breathless.

"One more thing-"

"Santana-"

"No more seven," she cut in before she could protest further. "If I'm going to give you space to figure out whatever this thing is between us, you're going to have talk to me. No more shutting me out."

Santana loosened her hold around the girl's neck. Quinn had her eyes clenched shut, but she eventually started to nod. She took a calming breath and looked back up at her with that same sad smile, mumbling an _okay_.

_Okay._

_Now, let's see how long_ I_ can last._


	14. II: Words, Hands, Hearts

Santana lazed back in the antique chair, her eyes trained on the high ceiling. It stretched twenty feet in the air, golden chandeliers hanging amongst the white painted clouds. She could hear the distant horns and the revving of motorbike engines from outside, mixed with the heavenly sound of Quinn's voice as she spoke with the woman behind the tour desk. She looked back down at that smile on the blonde's lips, Santana watching them move without taking in the words. She bit down on her own, her nails digging slightly into bare thigh as she continued to stare. But after a beat, she reminded herself that she wasn't meant to be staring, and that she was _meant_ to be giving Quinn her space.

_Look away, Lopez._

With a reluctant huff, she moved her eyes away from bright hazel to the busy Saigon street beyond the stained glass windows in front of her. They were framed by heavy beige curtains, blocking out most of the light from the streetlamps and the late night traffic that screamed past. It was vast and hectic, and everything Hoi An wasn't. But it was hopefully everything Quinn needed it to be.

Tapping her short nails on the old wooden armrest, Santana watched as guests and bellboys walked past her with suitcases in hand. An elderly woman's heels clicked across the polished marble as she made her way toward the adjacent restaurant just beyond the long mahogany concierge desk to her back. With its gold accents and Persian throw rugs, the Majestic Hotel had a class the other two didn't, the brunette feeling like she'd stepped back in time to the days of Titanic and old money.

"-start off tomorrow with the Cu Chi Tunnels tour. Then the day after, you have the Mekong Delta, followed by the Saigon River cruise."

Santana caught the tail end of the conversation just as she turned back around. The young Vietnamese woman had a bright smile on her face, her jet-black hair in a tight bun. She leant forward, passing Quinn several pamphlets and some paperwork, before sitting back, her hands returning to the keyboard in front of her.

"Now, you have your choice of either a male, or a female guide," she stated, looking between them expectantly.

"Male," both said without hesitation, a tiny smile edging its way onto Quinn's lips. She looked over at Santana with a hint of playfulness to her eyes, the girl letting a low chuckle escape.

"Very well," the woman nodded. "He'll meet you back here tomorrow morning."

Santana was the first to get up, plucking the brochures from Quinn's unsuspecting hands and beginning to flip through the folded pages. Those eyes snapped towards her, Quinn giving her a smile, before standing up as well. The darker girl wandered off ahead, Quinn thanking the woman, before following after her.

"Can you remember the last time we did a tour?" Santana mused softly, pressing the tarnished metal button next to the elevator and watching the ring light up. "We were in Venice and followed those Japanese tourists all day. But then I later found out you were only doing it so I would stop complaining."

Santana pouted, crossing her arms across her chest as a high-pitched ding sounded, the gold doors opening in front of them to reveal two middle-aged men in open collared suits. They stepped out, giving the girls a onceover on their way past. Quinn and Santana both ignored their leering, and moved into the confined space, leaning on opposite walls.

"Yeah, I remember," she murmured as a shy flush crept up her cheeks, the doors sliding closed behind them. "That was actually the first time you called me cheap, which I _never _understood. I used to buy you dinner all the time."

There was a playful whine to her tone, her brow furrowing adorably. Santana had to grip the railing behind her back to stop herself from just closing the distance between them, the look on Quinn's face making her chest ache. But she stayed in control as the numbers slowly lit up above the sliding doors, her hands tightening on the finished wood.

"Well, you always told me that I said no to everything," Santana countered with a shrug.

"That's 'cause you _did_," Quinn retorted with a laugh that just made Santana's insides melt. "I had to pretty much twist your arm to get you to try _anything_."

"Not the _whole_ time," she objected with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "At least not when it came to drinking or food."

"Snails, anyone?"

"I'll it say again. _Food_."

Another ding went off, Santana's attention turning toward the corridor that had just opened up before them, effectively ending their playful banter. Quinn let out an unease cough and pushed off from her spot on the wall, taking the lead up the hallway. The vintage red carpet masked both their footsteps as they neared their room at the end of the hall. Using the key card to open the door, Quinn stepped back and motioned for Santana to go first, those eyes on her as she passed.

The brunette wandered into their small apartment and sat down on her king single, hearing the door close and the lock click into place. She began flipping through the pamphlets again, not really taking in any of the information on the glossy pages. She was just looking for a distraction. She could sense that gaze trained on her, Santana biting down on her lip to keep from looking up. She knew what she would find if she did, perfect almond eyes full of hesitation and want.

_How is this you figuring stuff out?_

Santana had been trying hard the past few days to abide by these rules, but it was proving as difficult as it was three years ago, if not more. And it also didn't help that Quinn had zero subtlety. So, she found things to distract herself. She channel surfed, flicking from Korean game shows to Japanese soap operas. She blared her iPod until her brain couldn't think of anything besides the guitar riffs and the soothing bass. She kept an overly generous gap between them when they walked down alleyways and paved streets, her eyes always on the surrounding buildings. And she pretended to read travel brochures.

"Well, I'm just going to take a shower," Quinn edged. Santana dropped the glossy sheets to her lap, looking up just as she pointed behind her to the open bathroom door.

"Okay."

Santana leant back on her hands, her fingertips trying to find purchase on the rough material of the comforter. For a split-second she could almost hear herself say those words, the ones that would put her on the other side of that door as well. Her body ached just to get up off the bed and feel the warmth she had been missing since that afternoon two nights ago. She could still feel it on her skin, Santana swallowing hard against the sudden swell that surged through her chest and threatened to overcome her. She tried to look away again, find interest in anything else in the room besides her. But when Quinn leant her back against the wooden doorframe and flicked her tongue across her bottom lip, her attention was fixed.

_Why do you have to make this so difficult for me?_

_And for you._

"I know you want to say it," she murmured, her eyes searching her face timidly.

"Yeah," Santana sighed. "I do. But I'm not going to."

She knew Quinn could hear the strangled choke in her voice as she forced out those words. She didn't bother trying to hide it, the girl already knew how hard this was for her; she had to. The blonde opened her mouth to respond, a pained expression lighting her soft features. But she held her tongue, her shoulders deflating slightly. She took in a deep breath, before turning into the tiled room and closing the door behind her.

_"__Do you want any company?"_ Santana mocked lowly to herself, before letting out a groan and burying her face in a nearby pillow.

* * *

><p>Santana trailed a few feet behind Quinn as they crossed the lobby the next morning. It was fairly crowded considering the early hour; guests checking out while staff helped them with their luggage, carrying it to their waiting taxis. She had her eyes on soft blonde hair beneath a cane fedora, Quinn adjusting the brim as they walked. Santana shifted her small backpack higher on her shoulders, trying to concentrate on something other than her. But Quinn had slipped her aviators into the V of her t-shirt, the small weight dipping it lower and exposing the perfect amount of skin.<p>

_It is way too early for this shit._

Santana's eyes were still on her when they neared the tour desk from last night, several touristy types crowding the upholstered chairs. Her gaze shifted toward the large marble column to their right, and to a man in his mid-twenties with a black buzz cut and a small goatee, his baggy cargo shorts hanging loosely on his hips.

"You think that's him?" Santana questioned, pointing him out. "Wow, he's tiny."

"Stop it," Quinn chastised.

"I'm just saying."

The girls slowly made their way over, the man giving them a big grin as they approached. Despite his size, he was nothing but muscle, his tight navy polo showing off his ripped stomach and defined arms. Santana had to admit that he was actually rather beautiful, his dark eyes shining in the morning light.

"Hello," he greeted when they reached him. "I'm Tia, your guide, and this is Thai, our driver for the next three days." He gestured toward an older, greying man next to him who flashed them a wide grin and bowed at the waist.

"Wait, both you're names are Thai?"

A sharp elbow rendered her breathless, Santana coughing and bringing a hand up to her stomach. She rubbed lightly while glaring at Quinn, who gave her a stern look in return. "Ow, number three," the brunette mumbled under her breath, the other girl's lips quirking slightly.

"Sorry, I'm Quinn," she replied after a beat. "And this is Santana."

"It's nice to meet you both. And to answer your question, no," he said, shaking his head with a laugh. "Different spelling. I'm T, I, A, pronounced _die,_ but not as sharp. And his Thai, like the country."

"Got it," Santana clipped with a thumbs up. Quinn tried to hide her amusement at the girl's tone, but failed miserably, nudging her playfully with her hip. Santana's stomach tightened nervously at the effortless contact as they followed Tia out the glass double doors, the girl forcing a smile even though she was dying a little on the inside.

_We so should've done away with number three as well._

* * *

><p>"Okay, I think I'm stuck," she giggled. "A little help?"<p>

Santana hesitated for a moment as she looked down at Quinn. She had her arms outstretched, the girl up to her thighs in the tiny squared manhole hidden in the dirt. She locked eyes with the brunette, reading the uncertainty on her features. Quinn gave her a reassuring smile, before looking past her to their guide.

"Tia," Quinn huffed with another giggle, holding out a hand for the man to take. He hurried forward, and grabbed her wrist firmly. Santana stood back and let him pull her effortlessly to her feet, the loose rocks and leaves crunching underfoot.

_Okay, number three is fucking a joke._

"Thanks," Quinn mumbled, dusting her palms against her dark cotton shorts. She shot Santana another smile, before setting off after Tia and a second Vietnamese guide that was showing them around the extensive tunnel system.

Santana chastised herself once more for hesitating and jogged to catch up, keeping her eyes on the thin trees that surrounded them in the thousands. It was a dense forest only separated by a web of dirt pathways leading to different parts of the underground wartime tunnels. The mid-morning sun was peaking through the light green branches, spraying broken light across the low shrubs and browning leaves that lay scattered on the forest floor. It was a shocking sight to behold, especially the one from underneath.

They'd just finished up inside one of the passages, the cold clay walls tight and claustrophobic. The arched crawl way had lead further down until it was nothing but black, the thick dusty smell labouring Santana's breath. Quinn had tried coaxing her downward as they crouched in the limited space, but not even those eyes, or that smile could have made her go any further, the brunette climbing the old wooden ladder to the top level at one of the many checkpoints. The other girl however, had gone down to the very bottom, Santana meeting her at the surface fifty feet up the track. She had that bright smile on her face; the one Santana loved so much. It made her chest ache, and her hands bury deep in the pockets of her denim cut-offs.

_I think the universe was laughing at me the day it made you._

_Fucking hell._

After a few hundred yards, the four of them approached a clearing in the tree line. The local guide bowed to them and bid them farewell, before hurrying off back to his post, the girls and Tia continuing on. They passed a deep crater on their right, a reminder of the war that was waged in this very forest. Santana could hear the sound of rapid gunfire the closer they came, the small clearing opening up into a paved area with a souvenir shop and what appeared to be a firing range to their right, all covered by a corrugated iron shelter.

Tourists crowded the bunker, each with a guide and palm full of shells in their hand. Quinn had made her way over to the glass counter of the shop, her eyes flicking over the wares behind the clear cabinets. Santana wandered over too, leaving Tia to inquire about the range at the ticket desk near the back of the covered area. Quinn was browsing the bullet key rings and neck chains when she reached her, looking up and regarding her with a smile. She went back to strolling down the makeshift aisles, leaving Santana to trail after her, the brunette not paying any mind to her surroundings.

Her thoughts were on Quinn, and the rules that seemed to just hang a dark shadow over everything. Santana hadn't expected her walls to come crashing down just because the rules now permitted them to. But she had hoped that it would have at least helped her to open up. It had been two days already, and the girl still seemed closed off. Santana wondered whether anything that had happened between them over the past three weeks had help. Or had the journal, and the kiss, and this trip only hindered Quinn and their relationship.

"I'm sorry."

Quinn spun around as Santana came up behind her and leant against one of the cabinets in the empty aisle, the pair the only two in the shop.

"For what?" she asked curiously, her eyes still on the shelves and on a coffee table book she'd just picked up. She began to flip through the glossy pages, but her head was turned towards Santana, waiting for her to elaborate.

"For reading your journal that day," Santana explained, knowing that she should probably be apologizing for a lot more than just a simple invasion of the girl's privacy.

"It's okay," Quinn assured her with a sad smile. "Like you said, you already know what's in it. I shouldn't pretend that you don't."

"Right," Santana mumbled, chewing on her bottom lip. There was no heart felt words, or confession of anything deeper, just acceptance and submission.

_I wish you would be as open and as honest as those pages were._

Quinn returned the book to its previous spot on the shelf, pacing further up the aisle. She looked back at Santana after a few steps, her mouth open to say something. But she must have thought better of it, her jaw snapping shut with a shake of her head.

"What?" Santana questioned.

"It doesn't matter," she dismissed with a smile.

"Quinn."

Santana's tone was imploring, the girl reluctantly spinning around to face her. Her forehead knitted together as she chewed at the corner of her lip. Whatever it was that was on the tip of Quinn's tongue seemed to be almost painful for her to say, Santana's curiosity spiking.

"Those three years we were apart," she edged cautiously, her eyes finding the dusty concrete floor. "Were they really that hard for you?"

Her last words were forced out in one breath, Quinn's hands fiddling with a nearby key ring. A part of Santana knew that this was something that was on the girl's mind. Ever since that first night in her office when she'd mentioned the dreams, and those words and memories that were too painful for her to even hear, or remember. The look on her face, and the way she breathed her name told her as much. It must have been weighing heavily on her mind, the guilt painting her features clear and heart wrenching.

"I had good and bad days," Santana sighed. "Even if I _wasn't_ in love with you, which I am by the way. But keep it on the DL," she jested, Quinn shaking her head with a grin. "I missed my friend. Three years without that part of you was hard as well."

Quinn swallowed heavily, and nodded in understanding. There was still that unmistakable sadness lighting her beautiful features, Santana wanting more than anything to just take away all that pain and regret, and have her smile like she used to.

"But just know that life didn't stop for me," Santana assured her, wishing she could just reach out and take the girl's hand in her own. "I went to college for a year or two, dropped out when Brittany got the studio space in New York. Left with her, and started bartending. I had it pretty good."

"Girls?"

Santana didn't have time to question that look of emptiness that flitted across those eyes at the mention of her best friend, Tia calling them over from the ticket booth. She let it drop, Quinn replacing the key ring she was holding and taking the lead. He handed them both a clip of shells when they reached him and motioned towards the small line by the bunker, giving them an enthusiastic grin.

"So, what do you have booked for the rest of your stay?" he asked in conversation.

"We have a Delta cruise tomorrow, and then one up the Saigon River the day after," Quinn replied, Tia nodding with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, how would you girls feel about a bike tour through the Delta instead?"

"That would be awesome," Quinn exclaimed, glancing at Santana as she spoke. "But it wasn't one the options at the tour desk."

"I know it's not," he smiled. "I run it myself. I can take you up through the countryside adjacent to the channel where I grew up." He gave them both a wide grin, reading the elation on Quinn's face, the girl turning to Santana with wide smile of her own.

"Sounds like you just found something to write about, Q."

* * *

><p>"Can I ask you something?"<p>

Her voice cut through the muffled echo of horns and traffic, Santana stirring on the edge of sleep. She rolled over to find Quinn's eyes on her, bright hazel catching the streetlamps from the city outside their window. She was chewing gently on her bottom lip, Santana guessing that the girl had been awake for sometime before she'd spoke.

"Sure," Santana murmured, pulling her pillow further under her chin and settling in.

"You and Rachel," Quinn began in a hesitant tone. "Are you two seeing each other?"

If her voice hadn't cracked on the last word, Santana would have felt the urge to laugh. But instead a pang of guilt shot through her, knowing that she was partly to blame for the unmistakable doubt in the girl. She had to remind herself that the broken rule ran both ways, and that Quinn had every right to ask these things as much as Santana did. She also knew it was just a matter of time before Quinn questioned her about Rachel. Santana could see it on her face as soon as she'd broken the kiss that night. It was like Quinn knew she had lost her in that moment, Santana remembering the regret clear on the girl's face.

"It's just at the launch, you two were," she ventured softly when she didn't get a response. "I saw you-"

"No. No, were not," Santana said, cutting her short before she could finish her thought. "We're just friends."

Quinn swallowed thickly, before mumbling an _okay_. Her eyes turned distant as her mind strayed, a small smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Santana once again wished that she knew what was going on behind those eyes, wondering to herself why the girl was possibly more threated by the Broadway starlet than her self-professed boyfriend. She also wished Quinn would finally grasp that she was the only one she wanted. Not Noah, or Brittany, or Rachel. But no matter how she showed it, the girl always seemed to doubt that fact.

"Puck isn't what you think either."

Quinn's gaze snapped back to her, that smile growing as the girl hugged her pillow tighter under her chin.

"And what do I think?" she husked, almost daringly.

Santana opened her mouth to tell her that she wished she knew, but stopped herself before those words left her lips. Saying them would do no use, and knowing Quinn would just be met with resistance and hesitation. So instead she adopted the same smirk as Quinn, her eyes turning playful in the dim light.

"Let's see, you're thinking," Santana drawled, tapping her chin in mock thought, before turning back to her with a teasing grin. "That you love me, and that you just want me all to yourself," Santana replied coolly, Quinn's jaw dropping slightly. "Am I close?"

"Number two."

"I was, wasn't I?"

"Go back to sleep, Santana," she said with strangled sigh, before rolling over to face the wall. The brunette chuckled lowly to herself and did the same, tucking the pillow back under her head.

"I was close."

* * *

><p>Her feet crunched against the dry leaves, her palm running down the rough bark of the closest tree. It stretched fifty feet in the air, the thin branches splaying out and swaying lightly in the breeze. The sun was shining through the green, lighting the forest floor, and touching blonde hair and soft skin.<p>

"This is amazing," Quinn exclaimed, her eyes on the sky with her arms outstretched. Santana looked over at her, the girl standing in the middle of the wide dirt road, that smile on her lips and that elated glint in her hazel eyes. The brunette's chest swelled at the sight, a very familiar happiness washing over her.

"Yeah, it is."

Santana smiled at her when they locked eyes, before moving her gaze to the rest of the trees. They sat in neat lines that went on for miles, each tree planted ten feet apart. Removing her hand from the flaking bark, she wandered over to the middle of the dirt road that spanned the entire farm until it hit a rice field a mile down the track. An old truck was parked to the side part way down, locals tending to the trees, each crouched at their roots.

"I wonder if it would echo if I yelled something," Santana mused, her eyes on the surrounding branches as they formed a canopy of broken sunlight overhead.

"Try it," Quinn shrugged.

"Girls?"

Their attention snapped away from each other and over to Tia, who was knelt at the base of one of the trees closer to the paved roadside. Santana followed Quinn over to him, the man looking down at something attached to the trunk while a local Vietnamese boy hovered over his shoulder. Both girls neared the pair, and trained their eyes on what appeared to be a small bucket tied to the tree and a thin carved line circling the bark in a spiral.

"These are what we call rubber trees," Tia explained, dipping a finger into the container that was filled with a thick off-white liquid. "And when drained properly, produce this. Liquid latex."

He held up his hand, the fluid running down his fingers, before it dried and began to flake. Tia continued to talk about its uses, and the people and families that run the farms, but Santana tuned him out. Her attention was on Quinn, the girl transfixed by the man's words. Her smile grew with each gesture of his arms and every word that he spoke. Santana watched her in awe, wondering how she was so lucky to find a girl like Quinn. A girl that was as free spirited and passionate as her, and one that by all accounts shouldn't exist considering the screwed up worlds they both came from.

_You are so perfect._

The blonde leant down after a moment and dipped her own fingers into the bucket, pulling them out when they were coated up to the first knuckle. She looked at them in fascination, rubbing her thumb over her tips and watching it roll into a tiny rubber tube.

Tia turned to Santana expectantly, the girl nodding and wetting her own as well. She watched the white liquid glisten in the morning sun, the latex sticky and thick on her fingers. With a devilish grin, she turned to Quinn who was distracted by the rubber in her palm. Reaching out a hand, Santana swiped her fingertips across the soft skin of her neck before it had the chance to dry.

"San!"

The girl squealed and jerked back at the cold touch, Santana just laughing before running away. She could hear the sharp rustle of leaves and the dull thud of footsteps as Quinn chased after her, Santana swinging around to see her trailing a few feet behind. She ducked behind a nearby tree, placing it between them and staring her down with dark playful eyes. She stepped from left to right in an attempted to keep her on the other side of the small trunk.

"Uh-uh," Santana chastised. "Number three."

"You can't use my own rules against me," Quinn pouted. "Especially since you just broke them."

"Barely," she quipped back.

Quinn simply huffed and began rubbing her neck, the thin white film still painting her skin. Santana slowly backed away from the tall tree and walked out onto the dirt road. Quinn dropped her hand and just shook her head, trying to hide the smile that was forcing its way to the surface. Santana paced over to her with her hands behind her back when she was sure she wasn't going try and seek revenge.

"Guess what?" Santana chirped right near her ear as she danced a circle around her.

"What?" Quinn sighed, humouring her with her hands on her hips. Santana stopped in her tracks with a smirk, and then threw back her head with a laugh.

"I love you!"

She screamed the words into the air, before cocking her head to the side, her ear towards the sky. Quinn just watched her in amusement and shock, her eyes darting around them to Tia who was a hundred feet away with Thai by the van. Santana listened in mock concentration, before looking back at Quinn with a shrug.

"Nope, no echo."

* * *

><p>Vibrant green rice fields and thick forests flew by as Santana gripped the handlebars tightly with both hands. She navigated the ridges and dips of the mud slick path, the ground giving way under the tires of her mountain bike. Her thighs burned and her forehead gathered sweat as she tried to keep in control, pushing harder so she didn't bottom out in the dense sludge.<p>

She looked ahead to Quinn and Tia, both of them pedalling along at a leisurely pace once they'd reached harder ground, their eyes on the horizon. The bright blue cloudless sky provided no escape from the heat, the hot air clingy to Santana's skin and soaking her scalp beneath her helmet. The birds and cicadas chirped around her, the girl's gaze fixed on the locals tending to their farms. The men and women waved to her as she passed them by, bright smiles and hellos following. It was beautiful and peaceful, and by the look on Quinn's face and the sound of her laughter that echoed into the midday air, was everything it needed to be.

The wet mud eventually merged onto rough bitumen, the old road stretching for miles in both directions. People walked past on the opposite side, all of them carrying some kind of fruit, or buddle of roots. Tia greeted each of them with a nod, taking off further ahead. Their driver had dropped them on a back road of the Delta an hour earlier, telling them he would meet up with them again later. Their guide was taking them to his Aunt's house in a small village nearby before they had lunch at his parents' restaurant in town, telling the girls he just wanted to stop by on his way through.

"How the hell are you doing that?"

Santana had caught up to Quinn and was watching her in amazement as she held her Nikon in her hands while balancing lithely on her red mountain bike. The frame swayed from right to left, but she kept in control as she pedalled. The blonde just smiled in response, turning the camera on her and taking a picture.

"Practice," she shrugged, letting it fall to her neck and grabbing hold of the handlebars. Santana just shook her head in disbelief, keeping her eyes on the road.

Tia had pulled up to a wire fence ahead of them and leant his bike against an old wooden post. The girls followed suit, taking off their helmets and resting them on the ground next to the bikes. They hurried after Tia as he headed down an uneven path to their left. Santana's eyes scanned over the small house that was at the end of the narrow passageway. It was off-white with vines climbing the brick with a large pond in the front yard. As she got closer she noticed a worn headstone that had a name engraved with a date on their left, a bouquet of fresh flowers at its base.

"My uncle," Tia murmured, touching the stone as he passed. The girls kept silent and climbed the small steps, broken chairs and tables littering the front porch. More of the same vines snaked across the cracked tiles and down into the surrounding overgrown garden. Santana could hear dogs barking, counting at least four of them somewhere out the back of the house.

The girls were standing awkwardly on the front landing when a small woman in her late sixties came shuffling around the side, dressed in long flowing silk. Her black hair was to her shoulders, her eyes widening when they found Quinn. Her mouth popped open, Santana looking between them as the old woman's expression became one of wonder. Tia smiled at Santana as his aunt moved closer to Quinn. The girl held out her hand for her to take, the woman bowing as she shook it, a wide grin stretching across her face.

"What's going on?"

"You're the first white person she's ever met," Tia explained, his aunt still keeping a tight grip on Quinn's hand.

"Are you serious?" Quinn breathed, the woman looking at her as if she was a rare delicate flower that had just bloomed for the very first time.

"Yeah."

Quinn turned to Santana with an expression equalling the woman's. It was a moment Santana was sure she wouldn't forget. A moment that proved there was still simple beauties left in this world. And to share it with Quinn just made her fall for her that much more.

_If that were even possible._

"Come, come," the woman beckoned, dragging Quinn with her to the back of her house. Santana followed, Quinn turning around in her stride to make sure she was behind her.

The porch wrapped around the one-story home, leading to a garden with bird cages, and a dirt patch where several small dogs barked and jumped at their heels. Tia's aunt brought them over to a round high table, where she dropped Quinn's hand and walked over to one of the surrounding trees. She reached up a hand and plucked two purple skinned fruit from one of the low set branches, and shuffled back over to the girls. With a small paring knife she pulled from her pocket, she split each of them open, revealing white flesh with tiny black seeds.

"Eat, eat," she prompted, handing them over to the girls. They both nodded in thanks, before the woman took Tia by the arm and hurried off indoors. Santana watched them go, both smiling from ear to ear and laughing amongst themselves as they disappeared behind the wooden door. She looked on with an empty feeling creeping it's way into her chest.

Santana had grown up around friends who had loving and supportive parents; it was partly the reason why she was so drawn to Brittany when they were kids. But even now, when she saw that bond in mere strangers, she couldn't help feel a sadness at never knowing, or understanding that feeling. It was foreign to her, and it just made her hate her parents even more than she already did.

"Do you still see your parents?"

Quinn had her elbows on the table and was mid-chew when Santana asked the question. She knew she'd had a very rocky relationship with them in the past, and rarely talked of them either. But it was something Santana always felt she had in common with the her.

"I haven't seen my father since my junior year of high school," Quinn said with a sad smile. "But my mom lives just outside the city. Been sober for five years now, actually."

"That's great, I'm really happy for her," Santana told her, before turning bitter. "Mine still don't give a shit. I still get to see my brother though, he comes home for the holidays, spends it with me and Britt."

Santana swallowed her mouth full of the sweet fruit, before looking over at Quinn. There was that distinct emptiness again that flashed over her eyes when she mentioned Brittany. It was always the same look whenever she was brought up in conversation, and it had always confused Santana. Dropping her peel to the worn counter, Santana regarded her seriously for a moment, Quinn's gaze on her hands.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Whenever I talk about Brittany, you get this look," Santana edged, not really sure how to word her thoughts. It was something that had bugged her for years, but for whatever reason she had never questioned her on it.

"No I don't," she retorted, with a humourless laugh.

"Quinn."

Santana's tone seemed to cut through her light-hearted façade and make her look up. She had a reluctant set to her brow, her short nails picking at the empty fruit peel in her hands. She let out a shaky breath, before her eyes dropped to the small table again.

"I don't know," Quinn huffed. "I guess because she has a part of you that I never will."

"But what about as far back as Vienna," Santana said, remembering seeing that same sadness when they visited the Schnapps Museum. "You couldn't have wanted-"

It was then that Quinn looked up at her with those scared eyes, Santana stopping her thought mid-sentence.

_Oh my god, you did._

"Quinn," Santana breathed, reaching out a hand.

"Santana? Quinn?"

Quinn's eyes snapped to Tia's voice, Santana retracting her outstretched fingers. The girl swallowed thickly, before throwing the rest of her fruit into the garden and making her way to the front of the house. Santana didn't get a chance to question her any further, Quinn practically running after their guide. And by the time Santana rounded the porch, they were already by the front fence, both on their bikes and clipping up their helmets.

_Here we go again._

They didn't speak the whole way into town, Quinn just pushing further ahead whenever Santana tried to catch up. It was so infuriating to get such a huge bomb dropped on her, and then for the girl to just run away from it like it was nothing. Even when they arrived at the small outdoor restaurant, Quinn would regard her with a smile every few bites, but she still had those guarded eyes, refusing to broach the subject again. Santana was trying to think of a way to break the tension when she noticed the four women that worked in the kitchen staring at Quinn and talking in hushed voices.

"Why are they staring at her?"

Quinn looked up from her noodles at the sound of Santana's sceptical tone, before turning her gaze to the front counter. The women started giggling when she caught their eye, Tia laughing along with them.

"It's your skin," he said around a mouthful of his own soup. Santana's brow furrowed defensively, the first thought being that the women were being racist. Tia must have seen the look on her face, shaking his head lightly with a smile. "No, it's not what you think. They're very jealous, I'll show you."

Tia turned to them and waved them over, the four approaching timidly. A larger woman in her forties was the first to speak when they reached the table, all of them still giggling amongst themselves.

"She is so beautiful," she told him, a bright red flush creeping up Quinn's neck at her words.

"Thank-you," she murmured, letting one of them brush their hand over the soft skin of her arm.

Santana relaxed and sat back, watching each of them fuss over her. It was very endearing to see Quinn shy away from the attention, her eyes always finding the table. Tia shooed them away playfully after a few minutes, paying for the soup and starting out the door. Santana was still looking at Quinn as she followed her out, the tension between them seeming to have dissipated. She picked up her helmet from one of the outdoor tables, putting it on without doing up the clasp.

"You really are, you know?" Santana said, Quinn looking up from her own with a nervous set to her eyes. "You are so-"

"San," Quinn breathed. Santana closed her mouth with huff, nodding in understanding at the girl's pleading tone.

"I know, I know," she sighed. "Number two."

Quinn gave her a small smile, before putting her helmet on and picking her bike up off the ground. She began wheeling it out toward the road, but only made it a few feet when she stopped and turned back to Santana.

"So are you," she told her in a shy voice, before swinging her leg over the crossbar and setting off down the road.

_Okay, it definitely is possible to fall further._

_Jesus Christ._

* * *

><p>"Is that a snake?"<p>

Santana approached the round tank, eyeing the animal that was coiled in the clear white liquid. It definitely wasn't moving; it's eyes glossed over and empty. She tapped the glass a few times, watching it sway back and forth behind the small enclosure.

"Yeah, do you want to try some?" Tia offered.

"Of that?" Santana exclaimed, pointing at the snake in astonishment.

"Yeah, it's vodka."

Santana stared back at the tank with wide eyes and a sinking feeling in her stomach. It hadn't been long after they'd left the restaurant that the girls had met back up with Thai a few miles down the road. He had taxied them all to a dock that backed on to the edge of the Delta, the three of them boarding a riverboat to an island just off the coast. It was a few minute trek to the small hut they were currently in, many other tour groups crowding other benches with their own guides.

"I'm good," Santana digressed, shaking her head. Quinn cleared her throat next to her with a smirk, cocking a daring eyebrow in her direction. Santana knew that look; it was the one she always gave her when she used to refuse to try anything new. Her mind went back to the elevator two nights ago, Santana shoulders deflating at the memory.

"Fine."

Quinn clapped her hands in mock excitement, and watched as Tia took a shot glass from next to the container and filled it with the questionable vodka. Santana cringed, the man passing her the shot.

"Don't think about it," Quinn grinned, Santana just glaring at her, not amused.

She closed her eyes, and brought it to her lips. The alcohol burned all the way down, the taste not hitting her until it reached her stomach. She could definitely tell it was vodka, but it had a very strange tinge to it like some kind of soy sauce. It wasn't terrible, but when her eyes found the tank again, Santana gagged slightly and handed the glass to Quinn.

"What the hell did I just drink?"

Quinn giggled to herself with a shrug, before delicately licking the rim of the shot glass, trying some of the alcohol. Santana watched her in silent agony as she swiped her tongue across the inside again and again, effectively cleaning the tiny shot of all the vodka. She licked at her lips, only just catching the look on the brunette's face.

"Number two," Santana groaned under her breath just loud enough for Quinn to hear. The girl bit her lip guilty, mumbling her apologies and placed the glass back to the bench, before following Santana outside into the bright sunlight.

The island was mostly palms and fruit trees, small creeks winding through the gaps in the vegetation. They walked in silence along one of the many paved pathways until they reached a clearing in the dense line of trees. It looked to Santana like some kind of bar, tables and chairs set up underneath a large shelter. At the far end was a young man holding onto a donkey with a cart attached to its back, smiling and waving at them.

Tia brought the girls over to one of the table settings, the two of them pulling out a plastic chair and taking a seat. He motioned toward the man still by the donkey, telling them he'd be taking them on a tour of the more built up part of the island in a few minutes. Their guide walked away to speak with someone at the bar, sitting down on one of the stools and striking up a conversation. After a moment, a girl came over to them with a platter of fruit, bowing at the waist before retreating back to the counter.

"I'm starting to really like this place," Santana quipped, taking a slice of apple from the plate. It was then that she noticed a lemon in the centre of the large arrangement, the piece of fruit almost like a decoration compared to the rest of the platter.

_Really?_

Santana palmed the yellow fruit, laughing humourlessly to herself at the irony of it all. She remembered back to Austria, and to the first mention of the infuriating metaphor. It seemed so trivial then, in the smoky bar with three glasses of alcohol down between them. But it was as true now as it had ever been, though it suddenly seemed heavier than before.

_Stupid fucking lemons._

She continued to stare, juggling it between her hands. Quinn quirked a curious eyebrow in her direction at the smirk on her lips as she lifted a slice of melon and took a bite. Santana caught the look she had given, her smirk only growing.

"When life gives you lemons, right?" Santana chuckled lowly, gesturing to the fruit. She looked at it wistfully for a moment, then back to Quinn. Her brow had turned from a quirk to a furrow, her eyes falling to the melon peel in her hand. Those almond eyes held a sadness that Santana hadn't seen before.

"What is it?" she asked as she rolled the lemon between her palms, feeling the juice just under the rough skin. Quinn began to shake her head in almost disbelief, before her gaze drew back up to her.

"You know what you do when life gives you lemons, Santana?"

"Throw them back?" she jested, letting it fall to the wooden table with a dull thud.

She looked again to Quinn and was shocked to see her eyes glassy, and tinged red. She opened her mouth to ask the question, but was stopped by the tear that had escaped and slipped down her cheek. Quinn continued to shake her head almost manically, her features knitting together.

"No, Santana," she choked. "You don't. You make _goddamn_ lemonade."

And with that she pushed her chair back from the table and stood, spinning on her heel. Before she could get more than a step, Santana shot out a hand and grabbed her by the wrist, halting her movements. Quinn hung her head, Santana looking to see if anyone was watching, or within earshot.

"What are you saying, Q?" she asked, her grip tightening on her wrist. "Are you saying I didn't try?"

Quinn straightened up and turned on her, tears falling freely down her cheeks that she wiped away with her hand, her other still firmly in Santana's grasp. She didn't fight her hold or pull away, if anything she welcomed it.

"What I'm saying is," Quinn murmured. "What stopped you from coming with me to London?"

"Well I had," Santana argued, before stopping short. "Um."

Her mind went blank trying to think of a reason, _anything_ that would validate the past three years. She didn't have a job to go back to, or a family. Sure there was Brittany, but her best friend had never needed her, and would have made without her. She had no responsibility, or obligations to anyone.

_Nothing was stopping me._

She could feel her throat turn thick with her own unshed tears that weld in her eyes. Santana moved her other hand up and hooked a finger through the loop in Quinn's cotton shorts, pulling her closer. She opened her mouth as she stared up at her, but no words would come out.

She had none.

"You didn't even ask the question, Santana," she whimpered, swiping away more tears. "You just threw them back. I was falling for you, I _had_ fallen, and you just walked away. If you had just asked the question we'd be here as an _us_. If you had just gotten on that _fucking_ train, those three years, Michael, Noah, all of it _never_ would have happened."

The longer she spoke, the tighter the pain in her chest got, and the further she pulled in until she was practically teetering on the hard plastic chair. She wasn't able to deny these words she was saying; it was the truth.

"I'm so screwed up that I can't even admit to a simple emotional truth, and you just threw them back, San. _You _gave up on us," she accosted. "_That's_ what I'm saying."

Quinn didn't need to tear her arm free, or remove Santana's fingers from her belt loops. They feel to her lap at their own accord, her grip going slack. Santana continued to stare at the girl as she swallowed thickly, blinking back the rest of her tears. Santana sat in stunned silence until Quinn turned on her heel and walked away.


	15. II: The Last Scene Of Struggling

The dark streets sped by the tinted windows, the passing streetlamps flickering and spreading broken light across the damp asphalt. It threw both girls into shadow as Santana watched long, pale fingers pick absently at a loose thread on the seat between them. They ran along the frayed seam, tugging mechanically on the thin cotton. Santana stared dejectedly at them, keeping her eyes on the grey leather, not wanting to look up into perfect hazel.

She wasn't sure what she'd find if she lifted her gaze. Anger. Sadness. Regret. But she'd rather not know, given their afternoon. Instead she looked over at Tia, the man sitting silently across from them with his head bowed and his fingers tapping out a text message on his phone. She knew he could sense the tension between the two of them; he'd have to be an idiot not to. It hung over them like a thick cloud, slowly suffocating her.

It had been like this ever since Quinn had walked away from her. Santana had followed after her, once she'd composed herself as best she could. But she mightn't have bothered for what good it did. Quinn wouldn't even look at her. She would take in a sharp congested breath every few minutes, Santana keeping her eyes on the floor of the wooden cart and away from Quinn. The feeling of lead in the pit of Santana's stomach didn't get better either. The tightness weighed heavy as nausea rose in her throat.

She'd tried to swallow it down as the local boy took them down narrow dirt roads, through the local village, and across old bridges overlooking the rest of the Delta. In normal circumstances it would have been peaceful and beyond beautiful. But the atmosphere was heavy, dragging down the afternoon for all three of them. And by the time they'd hopped in the van, the silence had become unbearable. Yet neither seemed prepared to break it.

Santana was still reeling from Quinn's harsh words, each syllable ringing in her ears. They turned over and over inside her head until that paralysing self-doubt reared its ugly head again. A part of her knew they were true, but she still couldn't bring herself to fully believe them. If she did, the past three years would have been on her. And things just shouldn't be that simple, just going with her shouldn't have been that simple.

_Could I really have dropped everything for you?_

The fact that Quinn expected her to without any hint from her was a harder pill to swallow. It frankly pissed Santana off. It sent the ache in her chest spreading over her shoulders and down her arms until her fists were clenching tightly in her lap. Santana had to breathe past it, while forcing her eyes not to seek out the blonde sitting only a few feet away.

Santana was once again playing the never-ending tug-of-war with Quinn. Battling with feeling guilty for not even entertaining the idea, and angry for Quinn being so stubborn as to not just ask the question herself. And more so, that she kept silent about it for years and had only just brought it up in what seemed like an effort to push her further away.

_This whole thing is just so fucked up._

Santana chanced a glance at Quinn from the corner of her eye. Her gaze was on the dark Saigon street, her forehead resting against the cool glass. She was worrying the back of her knuckles over the smooth surface, her brow furrowed in thought. Sighing audibly, Santana shifted on the leather backseat, looking out her own window at the wide river that ran parallel to the van.

_Why didn't I just go with you?_

_Was I scared?_

_Or was I just as stubborn as you are?_

Santana looked back over at Quinn just as their driver pulled to the side of the curb. The girl still had her eyes on the tinted glass and on the line of traffic streaming past her window. Santana huffed and slid closer to the back door. Thai hopped out of the front seat, coming around to the side door and sliding it open. The sounds and smells of the city hit her as she climbed out first, her black Converse's hitting the uneven concrete. She spun on her heel, shouldering her small bag to see Quinn jumping down after her, only to turn back to their guide with a weak smile.

"Thanks for today," she murmured. "See you tomorrow night."

"Bye, Tia," Santana bade half-heartedly as Quinn walked off toward the glass double doors of their hotel. The man just nodded in response, flashing her a sad smile, before Santana made her way after Quinn.

She kept a safe distance between them as they crossed the lobby floor, Santana's eyes on the guests seated at the hotel's in-house restaurant. They were only just starting dinner, all of them chatting excitedly amongst themselves as waiters took their orders. But somehow Santana had lost her appetite, the nausea and tightness still churning her stomach.

The two girls reached the elevators, Quinn going for the small tarnished button while Santana stood back with her hands deep in her denim shorts. She didn't know what to say or do to break this deafening silence that stretched between them. She didn't believe she owed her any kind of apology. That would just be completely unfair on Quinn's part to make her do that. It wasn't her fault, and it angered Santana that the girl was making it feel that way.

She hesitantly peered over at her as the numbers above the gold sliding doors slowly counted down to ground. Quinn's arms were crossed firmly across her chest, her perfect teeth biting into her bottom lip. Her expression held so much, but Santana wasn't able to read her eyes. They seemed void and empty again. Though traces of sadness could still be seen every time her gaze hit the marble floor.

Santana opened her mouth to say something, _anything_, but the resounding ding of the elevator had her snapping her jaw shut just as a flurry of Japanese tourists came out of the open doors. They pushed between them, all with large cameras slung around their necks, their excited laughter filling the void left by the two girls.

Santana took the momentary distraction to look once more at the blonde. Her shoulders were deflated, and her eyes were to the ceiling. Santana chewed on her bottom lip, and swallowed hard against the rush of unjustified guilt she felt just as the crowd was clearing. She pushed off first, entering the confined space and leaning against the far wall. Quinn followed, standing with her back to her and as close to the glowing panel as she could.

The ride to their floor was painful. At least when she was out on the street she could look at the surrounding buildings, or in the van she had the windows. But in here she only had Quinn and the mirrors. No matter where she looked she could see that face. So she closed her eyes, breathing deeply and waiting for the second ding of their floor.

It couldn't have come fast enough. But when it did, Quinn practically ran out of the doors and down the hall toward their room. Usually she would step aside and let Santana go first, however Quinn just slid the key card into place, leaving the door wide open for her. Santana dropped her head wearily as Quinn made her way over to the bed on the far side. She gripped the cool metal handle in her left hand, anger rising in her chest.

With one final breath, Santana slammed the door shut. It shook the old wood frame, cracking loudly and echoing into the small space. Quinn jumped, having just removed her bag when the ear splitting sound reached her. She spun on her heel, staring at Santana in shock.

"You right there?"

Usually her voice would hold a certain bite to it, but this was a small voice that held no emotion and just seemed to fall flat. Santana shook her head with a scowl, her shoulders pulling up sarcastically. "Seemed like the only way to get you to look at me," she spat from her spot near the door.

Quinn let out a strangled breath and turned back to her bag. She hung her head down, her fingers playing with the zipper, not saying a word. The red-hot anger rose further in Santana's chest. Quinn was not allowed to just ignore her like this again. She shrugged off her backpack and threw it onto her bed, the bag skidding across the mattress and coming to a rest near the headboard.

"So you yell at me, blame me, and then shut me out. What, we're not even going to talk about it?" she berated, pacing toward the foot of her bed. "Or am I going to be doing all the talking again?"

Santana came to a stop just a few feet from Quinn, the girl trapped in the gap between their beds. She let out another breath, before turning on her, a tear escaping down her cheek. Santana forced herself not to let it get to her, to not just close the distance and apologise for something they were both to blame for. It was probably one of the hardest things she's ever had to do. But she stood her ground, watching Quinn open her mouth in objection, her bottom lip trembling. Whatever it was seemed to get stuck on the way out, the girl shaking her head and going back to staring at the carpeted floor.

_Fucking hell, Q._

"You know what, fine," Santana exclaimed in frustration. "I'll admit, I blamed you for what happened to us. I actually _hated_ you for it. But I'm not a mind reader, Q. I know it might seem completely foreign to you, but normal people, when they want something, they ask for it. They don't say _see you in another life,_ and just expect the other person to come running."

Santana was shaking her head back and forth as she unclasped her watch and threw it onto her bed. She didn't bother looking back up at Quinn; she'd just gone past caring and wasn't prepared to give her any more sympathy.

"Hell, some of us just skip the talking part and go for it," she added angrily as an afterthought.

Santana was in the middle of kicking off her Converse's when she heard Quinn take in a sharp breath. It cut through the haze and had her looking back up into glassy hazel eyes. Santana opened her mouth to argue further, but Quinn had lunged forward, crashing a pair of soft lips firmly to hers with enough force to push her backwards. Santana wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist on instinct as she fell with a muffled thud into the soft cushions of the couch behind her. Quinn climbed into her lap, her lips dragging desperately over Santana's, and her hands clawing at her neck and jaw.

Santana could taste the salt of her tears, and feel the ragged breaths that hit her cheek in short bursts. Her hands found their way to Quinn's cotton shorts, gripping her tightly and pulling, needing her closer. All the anger she previously felt toward the girl drained in that moment; Quinn had stolen it away with her lips and this kiss.

It wasn't like the others they'd shared. It wasn't saying goodbye, or I'll miss you. It wasn't even saying I'm sorry. It was saying I love you, and to never let me go. It was an honest pleading for the past three years to be erased. And it left Santana breathless. It left her lungs burning as she pulled harder against Quinn's hips. She pulled until they broke the kiss, only for Quinn to keep her now flushed lips inches from Santana's.

Quinn removed her hands from Santana's jaw, and slid her arms slowly and achingly around her neck. Santana could just see her dark eyes shining in the light of the nearby lamp. They held that familiar honesty that always came before she said something that tore through one of her walls. It made Santana's stomach flutter nervously as she kept a tight grip on the girl's hips.

"I care about you _so_ much."

Quinn's voice wavered slightly on her words, each one hitting Santana like a ton of bricks. It knocked the wind from her lungs, and had her forehead resting heavily on the blonde's. She believed her, but it wasn't anything she didn't already know. Caring was never the problem for Quinn. So, somehow those words were no longer enough.

"Is that all?" Santana breathed against her parted lips.

She'd never pushed her to say it before. There was always a part of her that knew she'd say it when she was ready. But Santana wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out; it had been three years for Christ sake. Given, they hadn't been together for them, but clearly their feelings were still the same, if not stronger than they'd ever been before today. So a part of her hoped that she was finally ready. She could feel it in the way her heart hammered just beneath her singlet, and she could see it in her eyes. But she needed to hear those words, now more than ever.

"I keep going to say it. But then this fear takes hold, and nothing comes out," she whimpered. "And maybe a part of me didn't ask because of that. Because it's easier to blame you, then to let you all the way in."

"What are you so afraid of, Quinn?" Santana whispered as she moved her hands to rest on top of her thighs. She looked into those dark shining eyes, trying to see the answers for herself. She could feel Quinn pull further into her, her nose brushing gently against hers.

"Everything."

And with that one word, Quinn removed her arms from around Santana's neck, running her hands across her shoulders and down her forearms. Santana shivered against the soft touch, watching those eyes cloud over with a very familiar want. It sent her heart tearing at her chest as Quinn's hands landed on the back of her own, coaxing them down further.

"Oh my God," Santana groaned as Quinn guided the brunette's palm up the front of her shorts. She could feel her heat through the thin cotton, Quinn keeping her hand firmly over tanned skin. She whimpered softly at the intimate touch, wrapping her other arm back around her neck. Santana's forehead found Quinn's chest, her lips pressing to the soft material of her singlet. She breathed in deeply, smelling sweat and sunscreen, and a scent that was entirely Quinn.

Quinn kept her hand there, holding Santana's palm against her until she rolled her hips forward. Santana moaned loudly into her singlet. She bit down on Quinn's exposed collarbone, the girl crying out and rolling them for a second time. Santana shook off her grip, and in one movement, pushed hard up into Quinn while pulling down her denim shorts until they fell around her knees.

"I take it number thre-"

"Just shut up," Quinn husked, shifting back up Santana's bare thighs. Santana didn't have the energy, or the will to argue further. So she did as she was told, bringing both hands back up to Quinn's hips and pulling her further against her to create more friction.

They moved in sync with each other, not bothering to remove shirts or underwear. Both girls were too far gone for that. Santana buried her face further into Quinn's chest, muffling the sounds coming from her mouth. Not that it did any good. Ripples of pleasure shot through her with every sharp, jutting movement, Quinn panting on top of her, before reattaching their lips in a desperate kiss.

Her thoughts turned to nothing, and all her words died in her throat. All she could think about was Quinn, and how amazing it felt to be this close to her again, breathless and needy. It was almost too much for her, tearing her lips away to bury her face in the crook of the girl's neck as she continued to roll her hips up into her.

They stayed like that until she could feel the tightness in her stomach starting to creep further down. She could tell Quinn was close too, her arms tightening their hold around her neck and her breath coming quicker. Santana pulled one of her hands away from Quinn's lower back, threading tanned fingers through soft blonde hair. The girl looked back down at her, smiling lazily before reclaiming her lips, her tongue pushing past them and taking what little breath Santana still had.

Gripping Quinn tightly, Santana flipped them both so they lay flat on the long couch. She kicked her denim shorts further down her legs until they fell to the floor, her lips never leaving Quinn's. She ran both her hands to Quinn's thighs and hitched them up around her waist, while grinding her hips down. The slight change of position was enough, Quinn crying out first and Santana following shortly after.

Her orgasm ripped through her, her whole body shaking before she collapsed on top of Quinn, both of them breathless. She lay there, feeling the erratic thud of Quinn's heart beneath her. Soft lips found her neck, placing slow open mouth kisses to her heated skin. She hummed in content at the feeling of those lips, and of Quinn running her fingertips down and under her t-shirt. She drew lazy patterns on her lower back, soft moans still escaping her parted lips. This was the simplicity Santana had searched for, lying here in Quinn's arms.

_Now this is something that should be this simple._

_Us._

* * *

><p>Santana brought up her hand and wiped the mist from the wide mirror. Her hair was damp and falling in waves down her back, the sun glowing a burnt orange beneath the bathroom door. She took a much needed breath as she gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection. Her eyes flicked over every laugh line and blemish. The girl staring back at her was the same girl from yesterday. She still had the same cheekbones and the same lips. Her eyes were still a dark brown, and they still held the weight of the world.<p>

Santana expected to feel different after last night. And in some ways she did. Her throat didn't hold the tightness that it had been carrying around for weeks. The dull ache in her chest was almost non-existent. Her breath came easier, even though that all too familiar sense of drowning was back.

But the doubt was still there too, resting just beneath the surface. She knew they were yet to talk about their issues. There was a reason that Quinn had said what she did. She could blame it on frustration, or anger, but it didn't change that fact. They'd completely skipped past it, and Santana didn't know how to backtrack, or fix it. A part of her didn't want to. A part of her just wanted to play it be ear and see if things worked themselves out on their own.

But she knew she couldn't do that. Too many times had she swept things under the rug and pretended like they didn't matter. It had almost become routine. Something would be said. Quinn would checkout, and Santana would be left reeling. Wordless apologies would be exchanged. And then Santana would wake up the next morning no better off than what she was before.

So, come to think of it, nothing had changed.

She had to remind herself that as far as she knew the rules were still in place, and last night could have just been another wordless apology. And when she walked out that door, Quinn would be sitting there, closed off and void.

_Just grow a pair and talk to her, Lopez._

Santana dropped her gaze from her reflection. She couldn't just stay in here and internalize everything. It had never done her any good. If anything, it fed her doubt and caused her to second-guess even the smallest detail. Instead of seeing last night as the breaking of a barrier, she was behind a closed door convincing herself it was something different.

_Just talk to her._

Grabbing a stray tie, Santana pulled her hair into a messy bun, a few loose strands escaping around her face. She squared her shoulders and grabbed her wet towel, before opening the door. Light flooded in, Santana's eyes adjusting to the new brightness. Quinn was sitting on her bed with her back against the headboard and her laptop open on her knees. Santana leant against the wooden doorway, watching the sunlight dance across those eyes.

It was times like these that she missed. Quinn writing while Santana watched. It reminded her of those three weeks, and waking up to Quinn with her nose in her journal. She would stare at her until the girl shot her a lazy half smile and closed the leather-bound notebook. She would uncross her legs and wander over to the bed, giving her a light peck and a murmured good morning.

_You were perfect._

"What are your plans?" Santana prompted from the door. Quinn looked up at her, giving her that half smile.

"I'm going to be writing most of the day before the river cruise," she answered, semi distracted by her laptop. "You can go explore by yourself, if you want."

"I'll pass," Santana mumbled as she wrung her hands on the wet towel. "It's no fun without you."

Santana knew they were dancing around last night, whether it was intentional avoidance or not. She didn't expect her to come right out with a full explanation. She didn't know what she expected. Maybe just more than what she was giving. But she wouldn't be her Quinn if a simple mention of the day ahead were all it took.

"So what are you going to do then?"

"You," Santana teased, before hanging the towel on a nearby chair.

Quinn laughed nervously, unsure if she was being serious or not. Santana just smirked at her as she made her way over, grabbing her iPod from the nightstand along the way. Those eyes followed her the whole time. The girl kept silent as Santana sat down on the end of the bed, the springs giving under her weight. She laid back and put one of her earplugs in, hitting play. Her Ed Sheeran playlist started, Santana adjusting the volume.

"Santana?"

Her voice was questioning, but it had an amused undertone that made the brunette chuckle. She liked teasing Quinn. It made everything else seem less important somehow. It felt easy and light. And it made her doubt less daunting. It was freeing.

_Not to mention, I get a kick out of making you blush._

Santana laced her fingers together on her stomach and continued to stare at her, thinking back to what Quinn wrote about her in her journal. About her eyes, and her touch, and her smile. She wondered if those words were still true. A part of her wanted to ask, but the other part of her just wanted to see for herself.

Quinn cleared her throat and dropped her gaze back to her laptop, her cheeks turning a shade of red. Santana's smirk grew as she shuffled further up the bed. She reached out a hand, tracing small patterns on the girl's bare skin. Quinn shivered at the touch, quirking a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Yes?" Santana said innocently, her fingers lightly grazing her ankle.

"Your plans?"

"I'm doing it."

Quinn let out another giggle and went back to typing, her eyes concentrating on her screen. Santana didn't stop her soft touch, contemplating whether or not to ask her about last night. She seemed happy enough. She didn't want to ruin this moment with their issues. Especially when this was the first time she seemed like her old self in days.

_Baby steps._

"Question," she began lightly. "My eyes and my smile. Do they still effect you like they used to?"

Quinn looked at her over the top of her computer, her breath hitching. Her eyes were cautious, but they weren't the scared ones Santana had grown used to. They appeared almost wistful as Santana flicked her tongue out to wet her top lip.

"How do you mean?" she asked nervously.

"Do they still leave you breathless, and make your heart skip a beat?" Santana edged, dragging her fingers down the underside of her leg. "And do I still make you feel as if you're the only one in the room?"

"What do you think?" she said through a shaky breath.

"I'd rather hear what you think."

Santana watched those eyes follow her hand up and down her bare calf. They were almost transfixed. They slowly moved up to her teasing smile, before meeting her playful eyes. Quinn let out a breath, and then looked back at her screen.

"Always."

Santana's heart fluttered at her words before taking a sharp breath of her own. "And last night," she continued, trying to keep her tone even. "Was it just the mountain air, so to speak?"

She wanted to close her eyes and not look for her answer in her slight features. But she held steady, Quinn opening her mouth to respond with the words that Santana had heard a thousand times from those lips.

"I don't-"

"You don't know," Santana finished for her with a huff, the ache coming back in full force. She removed her hands and laid back on the comforter. "Whatever."

_Why did I expect anything different?_

Santana picked up her spare plug and shoved it in her other ear. She cranked up the volume, letting the lyrics wash over her as she stared at the plain white ceiling. She tried to not let her frustration get the better of her, but the song hadn't gone two lines when Quinn's foot collided with her shoulder.

"What the-"

"Don't be like that," Quinn chastised while closing her laptop. Santana pulled out both her earplugs and propped herself back up to regard the girl fully. "_I don't know_. I just knew that I wanted to be closer to you, and to feel that part of you again. To let you know that I still care about you. And what happened between us last night seemed to be the only way I knew how to tell you that."

Santana let her words sink in as she picked absently at the comforter. They weren't the ones she was hoping for. But they were a start, and more than she was expecting to get from her.

"And the rules?"

"Are up for interpretation," Quinn replied shyly.

She reopened her screen as Santana grinned at her. Those eyes flicked up to her every few moments, holding her gaze before looking back down. Santana reached out her hand again, starting at her ankle and moving her way up her leg.

"So, would it be okay if I…"

She trailed off as she shuffled up the bed again. Quinn tried to keep her eyes on her laptop, the repetitive tapping of her keys echoing in the silent room. The closer Santana got to her thighs, the slower the typing got until she stopped altogether. Santana smirked at her, bring her lips to her knee and running her tongue lightly over soft skin. She brushed her fingertips up her legs and over the top of her thighs, keeping her eyes on her the whole time.

"Santana," Quinn groaned, her gaze hitting the ceiling. "I can't concentrate on describing the taste of dragon fruit if you insist on doing that."

Her whole rebuttal was forced out in one breath. Santana chuckled, kissing the other knee.

"Why not?"

She kept her lips pressed to Quinn's heated skin as she ran her nails further up, getting dangerously close to her inner thigh. She used all five fingers of her left hand, her right keeping her propped up off the bed. She could taste the hotel's soap on her skin, Santana breathing her in. She heard a strangled sigh, Quinn's eyes dropping back down from the ceiling.

"Because I just end up describing the taste of other things," she husked.

Quinn gave her an almost daring look, her eyes trained on her. Santana groaned, heat pooling in between her legs at the thought alone. She had the sudden urge to recite one of the key rules, but she held her tongue. With a sigh, she rolled onto her back in surrender.

"Hands off," Santana mumbled. "Got it."

_How is it that you're so much better at this than I am?_

* * *

><p>Santana leant her elbows against the old wooden railing, letting the warm night air whip around her ears. They'd been on the boat for just over an hour, the atmosphere below deck hectic and alive. It was almost too much to take in. Traditional Vietnamese dancers paraded around the small tables, the guests clapping along with them, while waiters served food and drink.<p>

Santana had kept a smile on her face when one of them approached her, politely declining to join in. Quinn however was all too willing, grabbing Tia by the hand and taking him to the dance floor. Santana watched them from her seat, Quinn's face lighting up with every twirl and dip. But after a while, Santana excused herself, leaving the two of them to enjoy the festivities.

She'd ventured to the top level, the whole deck completely deserted. She could still hear the thumping of music through the wooden floor, but up here she could think. It was almost peaceful, the city sky stretching on for miles before her. Lights twinkled and dimmed in the distance as barges and small carrier boats chugged past.

It was beautiful at night. As were all the cities she'd been to in her life. But somehow the towering skyscrapers and busy streets of Saigon reminded her more than anywhere else of the view from her Downtown apartment. The sounds were the same too, the car horns and the pings from the jackhammers so familiar to her. If she just closed her eyes it was like she was back there.

But thoughts of home only had her mind concentrating on the fact that they were flying back to New York in the morning. They would be leaving here and going back to a reality that Santana wasn't sure she was ready for. And that alone made her think of Paris and that last night they spent together. It made her think of that same crippling feeling that came over her when she knew they'd run out of time.

Everything about tonight, the dinner, the music, the crowds,_ everything_ reminded Santana of that night. It scared her to think back to that day. Her, counting down the hours, and Quinn pretending they weren't saying goodbye come morning. But standing here alone, they were right back where they started. Only this time, instead of avoiding saying goodbye, they were avoiding talking about why they did in the first place.

Their whole day was spent not talking about it. And in some ways it was perfect. They stayed on Quinn's bed, locked in that tiny hotel room until it was time to get ready. Quinn wrote while Santana just laid there, staring endlessly. The girl didn't seem to mind, looking up every few minutes with a smile. For once, Santana didn't want to talk. It was like nothing outside that room mattered. It was just her and Quinn, room service serving as their only interruption.

"Hey."

Santana looked over her shoulder to find Quinn coming up beside her with an elated smile. Santana returned it, before turning back to the railing. Quinn did the same, looking out over the water as their boat sped down the wide river. Santana turned her head to the side, admiring Quinn's short off-white dress. Its zipper was in the front, drawing Santana's attention to the girl's chest.

"I'm going to miss this place," Quinn mused, snapping her back. Santana coughed nervously, looking back out over the city. A small sailboat floated past, its owner waving up at them with a wide grin.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," Santana said after a beat, not wanting to leave either. She'd just gotten used to having Quinn around again, and she didn't want to loose that for anything, or _anyone_.

"Yeah, it is."

Quinn's tone made Santana tear her gaze from the water to look back at her. The girl was staring at her through hooded eyes, that want gleaming lowly in the limited light. The intense look made Santana shiver despite the warm night air.

"That's my line," she teased, watching Quinn's face go slightly red in the light of the surrounding lanterns.

"Shut up," she mumbled, turning and leaning her back against the railing.

They stayed in a comfortable silence. Santana forced herself not to taint it with her need for answers, even though she desperately wanted them. She ran a hand though her thick brown hair as the band below deck started up with a slow jazz number. It was smooth and calming, and made Santana think of waltzing and black tie. She saw Quinn push off from the railing out of the corner of her eye and turn on her. Santana faced her expectantly, noticing a shy grin on the girl's lips.

"Do you want to dance with me?" Quinn murmured softly, holding out her hand.

For once, Santana couldn't speak. The look on Quinn's face made it impossible to refuse her. And it also made it hard to breathe. Santana couldn't do more than nod wordlessly, accepting Quinn's hand. She took it in hers, pulling gently until Santana was flush against her. She began moving in slow circles, Quinn's other hand wrapped around her waist and leading her around the deck.

Santana couldn't keep the smile from her lips, or her heart from pounding out of chest. It felt so simple and easy to be there in her arms. And it hurt Santana to think that everyday could have been like this if they had just talked before they said goodbye. Like Quinn had said, they'd be an us. They'd be happy.

"I'm sorry about what I said yesterday," Quinn murmured in her ear as she pressed her body close. "What happened to us wasn't your fault. I was just upset, and the whole damn lemon thing must've set me off. Stupid-"

"Fucking lemons," Santana finished with a laugh, burying her face further into Quinn's neck. "But it is what it is, and you weren't all wrong. We both could have tried to make it work. Some things you just can't leave up to fate, 'cause clearly it wasn't listening with us."

"We were young and naïve, and we went about it all wrong. I mean, we didn't even have enough sense to write our numbers on dollar bills."

Santana chuckled into her shoulder as they danced to the hauntingly beautiful song. The lyrics were in Vietnamese, but the tune was familiar. They kept their movements limited to the one corner of the deck, Quinn's hold around her waist pulling her even closer. Santana breathed in deeply, before pressing her lips to Quinn's neck. A smile broke across her face when she felt the girl shiver.

"But we're here now, right?" Quinn murmured, before pulling back slightly to see Santana's face.

"Right."

Santana's voice was barely above a whisper, Quinn's eyes flicking down to her full lips. She could hear the even sound of Quinn's breathing as the corner of her mouth quirked with the hint of a smile. Grazing her nose with her own, the girl leaned in, claiming Santana's lips.

It was soft at first, Quinn's movements slow and meaningful. It made Santana's heart flutter in her chest and her knees feel weak. She dropped her hand from Quinn's, and wrapped both her arms round her neck. Two hands fell to her waist as those lips melted against her own, taking her breath with them.

* * *

><p>"I should get going."<p>

Quinn whined adorably and wrapped Tia up in a tight hug, practically lifting him off the marble floor. It took the shorter man by surprise, the guide giving a gentle squeeze in return. He chuckled warmly as she let go, a bright smile on his face. Santana was standing to the side near a large column, looking on in amusement.

"Thank you so much for the past three days," Quinn said with a grin. "They were amazing."

"It's no problem."

Quinn took a step back, her heels echoing off the high ceiling. The lobby was relatively empty, all the guests already turned in for the night. A few people were still manning the concierge, while a bellboy was returning a stray trolley to the dock. It left the girls free to say their goodbyes to their guide, the man blushing profusely as Santana gave him a hug of her own.

"Thanks for everything," she mumbled, letting her arms go slack after a moment.

"Here."

Santana looked down at his outstretched hand. He was holding what look to be a small memory stick between his fingertips. She brought her eyes back up, shooting him a questioning look. The man just smiled warmly, gesturing for her to take it.

"It's from my camera," he explained. "Usually I charge for them, but I don't feel right taking your money for these."

The man had an odd look in his eyes that she wasn't quite able to decipher. He'd been taking photos with his Nikon the entire time they were with him as a part of the tour they'd booked. So it seemed strange that he would just be giving them away like that. But she didn't argue further, taking it with a smile.

"Thanks."

"It was nice meeting you both," he bade, before bowing at the waist and leaving through the glass entrance at his back. They waved him off until he disappeared into the busy street, the sound of the city cutting short with the closing of the doors.

With collective sigh, Santana started after Quinn to the set of elevators at the end of the lobby. The blonde pressed the button, stepping back and leaning against the white and gold wall behind them. Santana did the same, trying her best to keep her gaze on the lit up numbers, and away from the girl next to her. She knew the rules were in limbo at the moment, but a very different kind of tension was buzzing between them, and Santana wasn't sure if she should go there with Quinn, or not. So, she kept her eyes on the doors and her hands at her sides.

But she could sense Quinn looking at her, the girl chewing absently on her bottom lip. It was unnerving to say the least. It sent a slight flush to Santana's cheeks, her hands bunching behind her back. Whenever those eyes were on her, they had her losing her train of thought, and at times feeling naked with just one glance. And right now it felt like Quinn could see straight through her tight black dress.

The feeling didn't get any better as they rode the elevator up to their floor. Every time they locked eyes, Quinn would give her a shy smile, before averting her gaze. Santana stayed against the far wall, watching Quinn through the surrounding mirrors. She was no more thankful for them than she was yesterday. She could see every teasing lip bite and small sigh the girl made, making the ride agonizing.

Santana took in a deep breath just as the doors opened in front of them. Quinn walked off first, following the hall to the left and around to their room part way down. Santana trailed after her, her high heels clicking dully on the red carpets. Slipping the key card in place, Quinn stood aside to let Santana pass her. The girl shot her an innocent smile, motioning for her to go first.

Santana suddenly became nervous as she made her way into their apartment. It was irrational of course, but it didn't stop her stomach tightening as she began removing her jewellery from around her neck and wrists. She heard the click of the door just as she placed her gold bracelets on the nightstand, slipping the memory stick into the drawer. Santana kept her head down as she sat on the bed, sliding off her plain black heels.

"You can shower first, if you want. I don't mind either way," Santana offered without looking up. Only silence met her ears, Santana's brow furrowing as she pushed her shoes to the side. "Q?"

When she didn't get a response, she lifted her gaze to find Quinn leaning in the doorway like she was three days ago. Santana had to stop herself from letting a groan escape, biting down on the corner of her mouth. Quinn's hands were on her zipper, pulling it down half an inch and then back up.

"Ask me."

Santana swallowed heavily and leant back on her palms. There was still a level of shyness in her request, making it even harder to refuse. Santana had to clear her throat before her voice would let her speak without wavering.

"Do you want any company?" Santana choked out, her heart thudding wildly beneath her chest.

Quinn didn't give her an answer, pulling the zipper down the entire way. It finished just before her navel, the short sleeves of the dress falling off her shoulders. Heat shot straight between Santana's legs at the sight. The girl before her simply turned on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open.

_Oh. My. God._

After a moment, Santana could hear the opening of the shower and the rush of water hitting the tiles. She slowly got to her feet and padded up to the open door. She could see her discarded underwear and her dress loosely scattered across the floor as she pulled her gaze up to the steam-covered glass. She could just make out Quinn's naked silhouette, making her stomach flip and her thoughts turn to white noise. Santana stayed standing there, staring in stunned silence. Her legs wouldn't work. Her throat felt tight. Nothing was going in or out.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

_That is the love of my life on the other side that glass._

_That's Quinn._

_So, why am I hesitating?_

Nothing was stopping her. The rules clearly no longer applied, and this was something she'd wanted for years. And still, none of it made her legs move any further than the doorway. This was going way past last night. Maybe a part of her knew that it was wrong on some level. Or that she knew they still had issues and was afraid that this would be yet another wordless apology.

Even when she'd kissed her at the launch party, it had still hurt even though she was responding to her advances. And it was because of those issues. Maybe she didn't want something so perfect and pure to hurt like that. She couldn't bear it.

_But it's Quinn._

Santana took in a shaky breath and forced the doubt away. She was the love of her life. She was Quinn. And in the girl's own special way, she loved her. That never stopped being enough before, and it was enough now.

Reaching up behind her neck, Santana grabbed her own zipper and pulled it down her back, letting her dress fall to the tiles beneath her feet. She stepped out, taking off her bra and thong, before gripping the glass handle of the shower.

_It's Quinn._

* * *

><p>Santana combed her long fingers through short blonde hair, tucking messy strands behind Quinn's ear. She lay propped up on her elbow, staring in awe at the girl next to her. Sometime during the night, the two of them must have pushed their beds together, Santana waking up in a bundle of sheets with Quinn sleeping soundly beside her.<p>

Santana's eyes ran slowly over her every feature. She looked so peaceful. Her lips were parted, and her hand was resting palm up just above her head. She didn't want to wake her, or even move. But the temptation to touch her was too much, Santana caving to it. She brushed the back of her knuckles down the side of her cheek, watching her stir slightly without waking.

_How are you so perfect?_

Her eyes moved down to Quinn's chest and to her bare breasts that were on full display. She kept her hand resting against her jawline as a dull ache started between her legs. But Santana breathed through it, forcing her gaze back up to the girl's face. It wasn't long before those hazel eyes started to open, blinking sleepily up at her.

"Morning," she murmured thickly.

"Hey yourself."

Thoughts of the night before must have been running just behind her eyes, the girl smiling lazily at her after a quiet moment. She edged closer on the bed, giving Santana a light peck on the lips, before falling back to her pillow. The gesture sent Santana's heart racing. She brought her hand back to her side, keeping herself propped up with the other.

Last night was beyond perfect. It made Santana wonder why she hesitated like she did. It was everything she remembered it being and more. There was no pain, or doubt. She didn't have to second-guess, or question if it was right. It was like the three years had never happened.

"You're so beautiful."

"Stop," Quinn mumbled bashfully, burying her face in her pillow.

"Especially when you've got _just-had-the-best-sex-of-your-life_ hair," Santana teased, running a finger through her unruly strands. Quinn just laughed, her cheeks turning red. She kept her eyes on Santana's as she continued to play with her hair.

"What do you want?" Quinn murmured quietly.

_You, forever._

Santana swallowed heavily. She knew Quinn didn't mean it like that, and if she did, she knew that any mention of forever wouldn't be met with that same smile. And that's ultimately what she wanted. For Quinn to be happy, and to see that smile every time she woke up, and before she went to bed every night.

"I just want to see you smile again, like you used to," Santana answered after a beat. "I know she's in there somewhere."

She gave Quinn a small grin, before dropping her hand from her face. She let it fall lower and began tracing small patterns on Quinn's bare stomach. The girl watched her hand intently, shivering when Santana hit a sensitive spot on her skin.

"She's still here, just a little bruised."

"I know something that might help," Santana offered with smirk.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow at her in curiosity, but she didn't elaborate further. She merely slid her hand lower, watching those eyes light up in understanding. Santana fingers dipped below the white sheet, hitting hot skin and making the throbbing between her own legs intensify. Quinn whimpered mutely as she began to move in slow, tight circles. She slipped lower every few moments, only to drag back up.

"Um, that won't _not_ help," Quinn moaned breathlessly. "But it certainly won't help us catch our flight."

"You don't know that."

Quinn's hand bunched in the surrounding sheets, while her other snaked down to grab onto Santana's arm. She didn't attempt to pull it away, if anything she held her there. Quinn's eyes fell shut as she arched off the bed, a low moan escaping her lips. Santana edged closer to her, pressing a kiss to the heated skin of her neck as she picked up the pace.

"San," Quinn whimpered.

Santana ignored her breathless pleading, concentrating on the girl's hand urging her to continue. She brought her lips down further, her teeth grazing Quinn's collarbone. But Santana was pulled up when her message tone went off behind her.

"Saved by the bell," Santana groaned.

She slowly stopped her wandering fingers, placing a quick kiss to Quinn's parted lips. The girl sunk back down on the bed with a humourless laugh. Santana removed her hand and leant over to scoop up her phone from the nightstand.

_**Stop making out with Quinn. You'll miss your flight.**_

It was from Holly. And if it was from anyone else, she'd be royal pissed off for the complete lack of timing on their part. With a giggle, she hurriedly punched out her own text.

_**I hate you xx**_

"Who is it?"

Santana looked over at Quinn at her slightly frustrated tone. She just laughed at her, hitting send before putting her iPhone back on the small wooden table.

"Just Holly reminding us to get on the plane," she answered, lying back down next to her. "Her gay Spidey Senses must've been tingling."

"Ew, Santana," Quinn retorted, but Santana silenced the playful scolding with her lips. The girl mumbled something unintelligible, before giving in to the kiss. Santana pulled back after a moment, only to peck her again lightly and let Quinn get to her feet. With a content sigh, Santana flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan that spun above them.

"Time to get back to reality, I suppose."

Santana sat up at those words, watching Quinn's naked form cross the room to her open rucksack. She'd said them herself the day before, but coming from Quinn they were slightly more foreboding than she liked.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Santana accosted, slightly wary of the girl's tone.

"I don't mean like _that_," Quinn shot back with a smile. "I just, this place is beautiful. So is New York, but anyone would be sad leaving this behind. That's all I meant."

_Then why all of sudden does it feel like I have an anvil weighing down on my chest._


	16. II: What's All This Trying For?

Santana gripped the metal bar with both hands as she pushed the trolley across the even pavement. The wheels rattled under the weight of the girls' rucksacks, the afternoon sun shining through the white clouds and reflecting off the yellow cabs that lined the arrivals at JFK. It was just like she remembered it. The smells, the sounds, everything was how she left it over a week ago. It was what she'd pictured when she'd closed her eyes on the boat just two nights earlier, and what she wasn't ready to come back to.

She took in a deep breath, light nerves churning her stomach. Santana didn't know exactly when they started, but there they were, gripping her hands tighter as they neared the closest rank. She pulled the trolley to the side and removed both their bags with a tiny huff. Quinn looked over at her as she did, the girl smiling brightly. As she returned it, Santana tried to breath through her nerves, push them away while they waited for the next available cab. But it was no use. They'd spent the whole flight talking about everything _but_ landing in New York, which wasn't anything new. They were both thinking it. They both knew it was coming. Yet they said nothing. Santana guessed that's why she was feeling so nervous. Everything was still so uncertain between them.

_How hard is it to just ask, 'are we going to be okay?'_

_It's just a simple question._

But each time Santana thought to voice it, she would hear Quinn's words from Hoi An like a skipping track, telling her over and over again that she didn't know. It was that unwavering self-doubt that had become like an old friend. So, Santana put it to the back of her mind and continued playing gently with the girl's fingertips as they lay on the armrest between them. She let the simple gesture consume her until it was all she saw. That's all she _wanted_ to see. She didn't want to think about the elderly woman next to her, or the fact that with each passing minute it brought them closer to home. It was just her and Quinn, for a few more hours.

As she brushed her fingers over Quinn's, the blonde would look over at her with a coy smile, her eyes shifting up to her parted lips and then back down to their hands. She was lost in it with her, the up turn of her mouth telling Santana she didn't want to land either. And looking over at her now, Quinn seemed just as calm as she did on the plane, though her eyes said different.

Santana could still see the real Quinn behind them, the one she saw as they slow danced two nights ago, and the one she lay awake watching in their final hours together. They just appeared somewhat apprehensive, like she was bracing herself for something. Santana tried not to dwell on the reasons why, though she could hazard a guess at most of them.

Quinn nudged her gently, breaking her out of her reverie just as a car horn went off in front of them. They shuffled forward, the heavyset driver opening his car door and rounding the back to pop the trunk. The balding man gestured for them to put their bags in as he returned to the front seat. Santana heaved her pack into the large space with a little effort. She turned to find Quinn by her side, clutching her own bag to her chest with both hands.

"Here, I'll get it," Santana offered with grin, lifting it from her grasp.

"Quinn."

Both girls turned at the familiar voice, Santana's heart sinking. She let the heavy pack drop to the bitumen as its owner came jogging over to them with a wide smile. Santana did her best to act indifferent, but it felt as though the anvil was once again pressing down on her chest.

She glanced at Quinn briefly as Michael got closer, the girl's eyes searching her face timidly. It surprised Santana to find that it wasn't shock that coloured perfect hazel, but recognition. It was as if she knew Michael was going to be there. And it really shouldn't have hurt Santana as much as it did. He had every right to be there, and Santana shouldn't have expected anything different.

"Hi," Quinn breathed as he neared them, chewing at the corner of her lip.

"I got your text," he said, brandishing his cell phone in his hand, slightly out of breath. "Bloody service, though. I wasn't sure if you got my reply or not."

Santana's stomach churned at the man's words. She turned to Quinn for an explanation, but the girl had her gaze on Michael who was standing awkwardly on the sidewalk next to them. He pocketed his phone deep in his dress jeans, quirking an eyebrow at the girls.

"And judging by the look on your face, I'd say you didn't," Michael laughed nervously after a moment, glancing at Santana as he spoke. He pushed the sleeves of his blue knitted pullover up his arms, his hands going for his back pockets.

"No, I got it."

The brunette's heart sank further at the girl's admission. She knew that Quinn had every right to talk to him. They were dating. And call it the mountain air, but Santana half expected, half hoped that being around her again had all thoughts of him falling away. Also with how she was acting the past few days, Santana may have just started to believe that he hadn't factored in her mind at all.

_I guess not._

Michael stepped forward and wrapped Quinn up in a tight hug, mumbling softly into short hair. Santana averted her gaze when he leant in to kiss those lips, not wanting to have to watch the look on Quinn's face as he did. She stared at the faded asphalt and at the idle pack that lay at her feet. She wanted more than anything to just tell Michael the truth. And if it were anyone else, she would've been more than happy to, but she wasn't about to do that to Quinn. She wasn't _that_ cruel. Quinn would tell him herself; she had to.

"So, how was your flight?" Michael murmured just as Santana looked back up.

"Yeah, it was fine."

Santana watched the pair talk lowly amongst themselves, both smiling shyly with their arms still loosely around each other. It brought her back to the launch party and having to watch them from across the room, trying not to scream, or worse. But this time she didn't have Rachel, or alcohol to numb the pain. She knew this was inevitable, and she knew they were by all accounts still together, but it didn't make it any easier to watch.

"It's nice to see you too, Santana," Michael said, turning his attention to her. "Thanks for looking after her for me."

_For you?_

_Wow._

"My pleasure," she forced out as irrational anger rose in her chest at his seemingly harmless words. Santana could only guess at the thoughts running through Quinn's mind in that moment. The girl look so conflicted standing in his embrace. By this time, Santana's newfound anger had travelled down her arms and had her gripping the edge of the open trunk. Michael began mumbling something further to Quinn as he squeezed her shoulder affectionately, Santana biting down painfully on her bottom lip.

_Please stop._

"So, when did she text you?" Santana muttered, no longer able to stand watching the two of them. She didn't really want to know the details. She just needed something to fill the painful silence, and to get him to stop looking at her with those imperfect eyes and touching her with those hands.

"I don't think we should-"

"It was what? Two days ago?" Michael piped up, cutting Quinn short. "It was the night before you flew home, I'd say. Just wanting to know if I was still picking her up. Why's that?"

Quinn's face fell, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly as she watched the brunette's presumably blank eyes. Santana's couldn't speak, or even breathe. Her blood had run cold, her heart completely stopping at his words.

_But the night before we were…_

"Oh."

"San," Quinn pleaded, taking a step forward.

_The night before you told me to ask you if you wanted…_

"Oh," Santana repeated numbly.

"Is there are problem?" Michael voiced, worry clear in his tone.

"No, no problem," Santana murmured thickly, the sting pulling at the corners of her eyes. "You're girlfriend's just not the person I thought she was."

"Santana."

_Walk away._

_Just let it go, and walk away._

But Santana couldn't swallow the pain down. It kept coming, threatening to consume her. And all of a sudden the thing that was so pure and perfect had indeed hurt. She tried to stay calm. She tried to not let her heartbreak show on her face. But as she blinked and the first tear slipped down her cheek, she wasn't able to hold it in. Santana let out a deep breath and pulled her jacket tighter around her as the crippling feeling took over.

_Walk away._

_Just walk away._

"Santana?"

"Goodbye, Q," she managed, closing the trunk as gently as she could as she tried to keep her emotions in check. "See you in another life."

"No, no, wait!"

Santana didn't want to listen to anymore of it, turning on her heel and making her way up the side of the car. She'd just reached the sidewalk when those soft fingers wrapped around her wrist, her tears blurring her vision. They burned and had her yanking free from the girl's grasp.

"Don't," Santana warned with a shake of her head, Quinn's hands falling to her sides. She grabbed for the back door, her fingers gripping the handle firmly before she found herself turning back to the blonde. "So, the other night was what exactly? Goodbye?" she choked out through her relentless tears. "Or did you just get _bored_ waiting for him to reply to you? Which one?"

"It's not that simple," Quinn whimpered, her own tears wetting her cheeks.

"Well, how about I uncomplicated it for you?" Santana spat.

"Can someone please tell me what the _bloody hell_ is going on?"

Quinn spun to find Michael, his brow knitted together in confusion with his arms across his chest. He stared her down, before switching his steely gaze to Santana as she wiped a shaking hand under her eyes.

_Here's your chance, Quinn._

_Please say something._

_Anything._

…

_Nothing._

"You'll have to forgive her, Michael," Santana said in a dead voice. "She was never good with words."

She clenched her jaw shut against the pain of once again being let down by the girl she loved. Of once again standing there while she checked out like so many times before. With one last look at her, Santana shook her head with finality, her whole body feeling numb and cold.

"I'm so fucking done," she breathed, the words barely leaving her lips.

"No, Santana wait-"

"No!" Santana all but yelled at her, Quinn flinching. "I waited for you for three _fucking_ years. I've done my waiting."

"If you'd just let me explain-"

"You know for once, I don't want hear _anything_ you have to say."

Without another word, Santana ducked inside the cab and slammed the door shut, muting the girl's pleas. She let sobs wrack her body, her head hitting her hands. Santana didn't want to have to look at her, or hear that voice. Or even think, or feel. She didn't want any of it. She didn't ask to love someone that time and time again checked out. She didn't ask to look into those clouded eyes, and watch as the girl that had held her heart for so long gave up on them. She didn't ask for _any_ of it.

"Where to?"

Santana looked up through her tears. Her driver had turned around in his seat, taking in her dishevelled appearance. He then flicked his gaze to her window, eyeing Quinn who was banging on the car door, the frame rattling and echoing into the confined space. He looked intently back at Santana, waiting for an answer. She could barely muster a response, her throat so tight she could hardly breathe. But when she opened her mouth, she said the first place she could think of through the dark haze that had settled over her.

"Upper West Side."

* * *

><p>She jammed her finger over the button, the incessant ringing of the buzzer echoing in her ears. Dried tears stained her cheeks as she tried her best to keep fresh ones from appearing. But she could feel them pulling at her eyes, her throat getting tighter. She squeezed them shut, waiting for the old intercom to pick up. She didn't know why she was here. On the ride over, she tried to convince herself to just tell the driver to turn around, but the crippling pain in her chest stopped her from saying the words.<p>

_Please pick up._

After what seemed like a lifetime, a refined voice came over the tiny speaker. It crackled loudly into the late afternoon, but Santana didn't let the man get further than two words before cutting him off.

"Jeffrey, can you let me in?" she choked out, releasing the small tarnished button. She watched as the elderly gentleman walked up to the glass door, swinging it wide to let her pass. He shot her a friendly smile, Santana chest aching at the polite gesture. She lifted her rucksack from the garden ledge next to her feet and made her way into the lobby. She placed it down on the polished marble floor and regarded the doorman fully. The darker man took in her redden cheeks and glassy eyes, concern flashing across his face.

"Good evening, Miss Lopez. Miss-"

"I know where she is," Santana interjected thickly, no longer able to hold his gaze. "Can you let me up?"

"Of course, Miss," he nodded cautiously, unsure of how to approach the distraught girl. He moved to the single elevator shaft, pressing the button on the gold panel and stepped back.

Santana thanked him weakly, folding her arms tightly across her chest. They were the only things keeping her together at this point. It felt like if she let go, her chest would open up and her heart would fall out, exposed and raw for the world to see. But it wasn't like it hadn't already; her heart was left on the sidewalk with _her,_ and that resounding silence. Santana could feel the sting in her eyes again as her mind didn't relent with the constant images of the girl she'd just left behind.

Of waking up to that artificial light, and to that beauty that was so pure she thought she might still be dreaming.

Of lying awake and watching those eyes, taking in every freckle and line before she got on that train.

Of her sitting on a bed, white sheets pooled around her as she bared her heart to her in Hoi An.

And of her leaning up against the bathroom door, asking her that question that had now become like a knife, dragging ever deeper.

_Get the fuck out of my head._

_Please._

But they didn't let up as the doors opened and she entered the tiny elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. They slid closed behind her, Santana being confronted with her reflection in the mirrored glass. Her mascara was streaking down her cheeks, and her eyes looked empty and lifeless. She choked back new tears, bringing her hand up to her mouth as an ugly sob ripped from her throat. Santana tried to take in deep breaths, but the more she tried to control it, the worse it became until she was doubled over, clutching at her chest.

She barely registered the high-pitched ding of the floor, the doors slowly sliding open. The hallway wrapped around to her left, Santana following it to the very end. She brought her hand up and banged on the door marked _803_ in gold lettering, the wood rattling against the jamb. She set her jaw against the anger and pain that was residing in her chest as that ache began to feel like lead in her stomach.

_Why am I here?_

_I should just go back to the elevator and go home._

_I shouldn't be here._

Santana stopped her hand when she heard the sliding of metal against the latch and the click of the heavy lock. Her heart clenched at the sound as the door opened in front of her.

"Santana?" the girl voiced in confusion. "What are you-"

She didn't let Rachel finish, surging forward and crashing their lips together. She pushed her backwards into her spacious foyer, grabbing at her waist. Santana could feel her mouth move beneath hers as more tears fell down her cheeks and pooled at her lips. They didn't stop, and neither did the pain. It kept hammering at her chest and had her hands digging into soft skin.

"What's wron-"

Santana's lips muffled Rachel's words as she slammed her up against the nearest wall. She just wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to be numb. But above all, she wanted to forget. To forget Quinn, and the way she made her feel. She wanted safe. She wanted someone who didn't hide her feelings. And she wanted someone who wouldn't break her heart the way that Quinn did.

_I just want it all to stop._

But the pain was still there. She wasn't numb. And she wasn't safe. Her heart was broken in every possible way, and all she could do was feel it as she kissed Rachel even harder.

"San?" Rachel tried again, pushing against her shoulders. "Santana, stop."

"Shut up!"

Santana brought her fist down on the wall behind Rachel's head, splintering the thin plasterboard. The smaller girl flinched, but her eyes stayed on Santana. Her breath was coming out in short burst, hitting Rachel's flushed lips as the anger gripped at her heart. Santana could feel the delicate skin of her knuckles split, the adrenaline that pumped through her veins masking the sting. She continued to breathe heavily, her body still pinning the girl against the wall.

After a moment Rachel softened, bringing a gentle hand up to Santana's cheek. The touch didn't hurt, those fingers warm and welcoming. So they should have been calming. They should have been what Santana sought when she came here. It's what she wanted. But Rachel's touch only brought more tears as she hung her head, her hands still resting on the wall behind Rachel.

"You don't want this," Rachel implored, stroking a thumb over the skin of her cheek.

Santana pursed both lips together to keep them from trembling as she squeezed her eyes shut once more. Rachel wrapped both arms around her neck and pulled her in. Santana's slight frame visibly shook as she collapsed against her, her tears wetting Rachel's loose top. But those soft-spoken words only served as a reminder of everything she _did_ want.

She wanted sunlight through blonde hair, and endless summers. She wanted that feeling that came with just being, that freeing feeling of knowing that at any given moment something extraordinary could happen. Something unexpected. She wanted to love Quinn without fear of it being goodbye. She wanted to look into perfect hazel and know without a shadow of a doubt that she loved her.

She wanted clarity.

"I just wanted her."

* * *

><p>"So, that's it? You're just going to walk away, after everything you two have been through?"<p>

There was a level of sympathy in Rachel's question, though Santana could hear the underlining disbelief in her words. Santana sighed inwardly, bringing the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels she was cradling to her lips, the coke Rachel insisted on left discarded on the coffee table between them. She tried to make her eyes focus on the girl, but failed miserably, settling for a half-hearted shrug in response.

"She told me it wasn't that simple, so I uncomplicated it," Santana stated without much feeling. "You know, since she seems incapable of doing so herself."

"It _isn't_ simple," Rachel shot back. "She cheated on her best friend with you, Santana. That's practically the _definition_ of not simple."

Santana brought her eyes up to her, that anger rising high in her chest. She couldn't believe what she was hearing right now. Yes, she knew Quinn cheated. But it was her choice to do so, she asked for it. And yes, Santana should have said no, but aside from that fact, all she could hear coming from those lips was _you should have stayed_.

"You can't honestly tell me that you would have just stood there and taken that," Santana retorted with a scowl. "You can't tell me you would have stayed."

"I might not have walked-"

"Oh my God, weren't you the one that told me all that_ bullshit _about her dragging me through fire and ice?" Santana exclaimed, her emotions getting the better of her. "Whose side are you on here?"

"I'm on your side,_ ass_," Rachel said, raising her voice slightly in irritation. "But you came here, consciously or not, because you know I'll tell you the truth. I've been where she is, Santana. And all I am saying is that maybe try thinking about it from her side. Try putting yourself in her shoes for once."

"I _have_ been. How do you think I got like this?" Santana accused, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. "She was talking to him right before we had _sex_, Rach. Do you_ not_ get how screwed up that is?"

The girl softened at Santana's words, nodding in reluctant agreement. "You're right, I'm sorry," Rachel relented, raising both hands in defeat and sitting back. "It was unfair of her to do that to both of you. The whole situation is unfair, to quite be honest."

"And it's not even about that," Santana mumbled, picking at the peeling label on the bottle of whiskey. "I thought it was at first, but. I'm just over her not letting me in, and having to look into those eyes and just seeing void. I can't do it anymore."

_It hurts too much._

Santana took another swig from the bottle as she stared dejectedly at her left hand; the small cuts stark against the tanned skin of her knuckles. They should've been pulsing dully from where they connected with Rachel's foyer wall, but the alcohol running though her system was enough to block it out. If only it was enough for the one gripping at her heart, Santana musing that even half a bottle of whiskey wouldn't be enough to numb that pain.

She brought her injured hand back to her lap, swallowing heavily. A silence had stretched between the two as Rachel's eyes stayed on Santana. Tilting the glass bottle, she watched the rich liquid swirl around its base, her thoughts going back to that afternoon. She could still see the heartbreak in Quinn's eyes vividly in her mind as she turned and walked away. But she could also still hear that deafening silence when the girl did nothing to stop her.

_This doesn't feel real._

"Maybe it _was_ my fault."

"San-"

"No, it's true," Santana implored, her words slurring slightly. "I mean, I'm the one who fell in love with someone who's emotionally fucked in the head."

"We don't choose who we fall for," Rachel murmured. "It just happens. I think we can both testify to that."

Santana nodded numbly, feeling tired beyond her years. She placed the bottle on the coffee table, her whole body aching with a pain that had no source. She didn't know how to begin to move beyond this feeling. She didn't have any closure, or answers. All she had were what ifs and silence. She had nowhere to go from here, or any way to know if there was even somewhere _to_ go.

"So, because I'm such a supportive friend," Rachel piped up, cutting through her drunken self-pity. "I won't make you pay for the collateral damage done to my apartment. I'll just put it down to a crime of passion, and be done with it."

Santana's lips quirked up slightly at her jesting words, Rachel smiling sadly back at her. The gesture felt foreign, even though it hadn't been six hours since she'd last done so, looking at that smile and those eyes. At _her_. It was enough to have those tears pulling at her own, the lump coming back to her throat. Rachel must have sensed Santana's mind straying back to that afternoon, swinging her legs from beneath her on the armchair.

"But you're just lucky I don't have a show for another week, since I'm fairly certain you bit me too," Rachel continued light-heartedly, bringing a hand to her lip and wincing.

"Sorry," Santana mumbled, before shaking her head with the resemblance of a smirk. "Actually, no I'm not."

"Fuck you," Rachel laughed humourlessly.

"That could be arranged."

"Santana, I know you," she sighed, leaning forward in her chair. "And you tend to make pretty poor decisions when you're hurt, or trying to pretend you don't care. Like coming here and putting a hole through my foyer wall for instance."

"I think I'm gonna plead the fifth on that one," Santana shrugged. She knew Rachel was right. Santana was notorious for making poor choices when it came to her heart. All throughout high school, instead of feeling, she would drown out her pain with often destructive means, whether it came from her parents, or otherwise. She didn't need to be reminded.

"Okay, time to get your drunken ass off my new leather sofa," Rachel announced, getting to her feet. "I had the maid service make up the guest room for you."

"Why can't I just share your bed?"

Santana forced herself to follow after her, Rachel walking off ahead down the hall. The girl had just reached the first door, turning around to face her with a tired smile. "Because like I said, I know you, and you're not going to want to just sleep," she murmured, leaning against the doorway.

Santana took in a deep breath, shrugging pitifully. She couldn't deny Rachel's words. She felt so lost and empty that she was willing try anything at this point to have this feeling stop, even if it was only for one night.

"I just want it stop hurting," she breathed, her eyes brimming slightly as she tried to swallow down the fresh tears.

"Trust me. You think it's going to help, but come morning it still hurts, even more than it already did," Rachel said with heavy sigh. "We've been there already, remember?"

"I remember," Santana muttered, the long forgotten memories of that one night coming back to the forefront. "How is _Finnocence_ anyway? Still a grade-A douchebag?"

"I haven't seen him since graduation," Rachel replied in a tight voice, a familiar sadness crossing her eyes. "He stayed in Lima, but you would know that."

Rachel kept her gaze from her as Santana nodded absently. She knew full well what went down between the couple all those years ago, and where Rachel's ex had ended up. She was there. Only difference between then and now was that Santana didn't say no. A part of her just need to deflect, even for a moment from what was really going on.

_This just doesn't feel real._

Rachel looked back up at her, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Santana's shoulders. The taller brunette sighed into the embrace, loving the feeling of being close to someone, _anyone_. Pulling back, Santana ran a gentle finger along the tiny cut on Rachel's bottom lip.

"Sorry," she breathed.

Rachel just nodded, bringing up a hand and covering Santana's. She squeezed it in a comforting gesture, before stepping back against the doorway once again.

"Get some rest. I'll drive you home in the morning."

"Thanks," Santana mumbled, watching her turn and make her way further down the hall. She saw her disappear around the corner, hearing Rachel's door click shut.

And then she was alone.

* * *

><p>Santana dragged her fingers across the cool glass, staring at the two people in the photo beyond. It was the same photo that had sat on her nightstand since she moved to New York, but Santana didn't even recognize them anymore. It was like they were different people. And in a way, they were. Santana just wasn't sure which ones she felt more sorry for. The ones that were blissfully ignorant, smiling happily behind their frame, or the ones that lived in reality where everything wasn't a fairytale.<p>

After Rachel had dropped her off that morning, Santana had dumped her bag down and wandered into her room. It was exactly how she left it, random pieces of clothing strewn across the room from when she was packing nearly two weeks ago, and her ensuite door left ajar. Her bed was still pulled down on one side. And that picture of the two of them from Amsterdam was still on her bedside table. It was a little off centre, Santana remembering that Quinn had picked it up the morning they left.

_She was standing right here._

_She'd picked up this photo, and looked at it with that smile on her lips, just staring._

_She was right here._

A part of Santana just wanted her back so badly she couldn't breathe, void and all. Anything had to be better than this feeling. Better than sitting alone on her bed staring at a photograph wondering what could have been. But the other more logical part knew she couldn't be with someone who wouldn't let her in. And staring at the photograph, she began to feel sorry for the two people behind the thin glass. They had no idea what was coming. They would soon walk off, one chasing the other and wrapping her up in her arms. They would carry on living for at least a few more days before the rug was pulled out and the veil disappeared.

_We were always doomed, weren't we?_

_Right from the very start._

Santana leant back heavily on her soft pillow, biting at her lip. She didn't want it to be over. Maybe that's why it didn't feel real to her. Yes, she had walked away. But in that moment she didn't see any other way around it. Quinn was once again breaking her heart, and even through her desperate pleas, it all just felt too much for her to take. Santana was loosing herself, the self that Quinn helped her find all those years ago.

_But was what you did really that bad?_

_You were just being you._

Santana's head shot up when she heard the jingle of keys in the lock out in the living room, a ghost of a smile coming over her lips. Her heart lifted slightly at that sound, having missed the safe feeling that came with her best friend and the carefree bubble that seemed to follow her. It was like breathing.

"I'm in here, Britt," Santana called, her eyes going back to the photo.

She could hear heavy footstep coming down the hall as she continued to look at the curve of the large red _M,_ and of the two of them sitting beneath its arches. Santana shifted her gaze up when she could feel someone else's presence in her doorway. But her heart sank when she saw that familiar buzz cut and worn leather jacket.

"Oh, it's you," Santana deadpanned, dropping her eyes back to her hands.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back in town?" Puck accosted without so much as a hello, taking a step into her room. "A simple phone call would've been nice."

_I seriously don't need this shit right now._

"Please leave, Puck," Santana replied in a tired voice.

She kept her eyes on the picture frame, feeling the man's gaze burning a whole in the side of her head. She brushed it off, hoping against all hope that he would finally get the idea and just walk away. It's all she needed him to do, like he had so many times before. But he didn't appear to be moving, just standing there motionless, his stern gaze not wavering.

"You fucked her, didn't you?"

_I'm sorry, fucked?_

Anger greater than any she had ever felt gripped at her shoulders, her hands tightening around the dark wooden frame. She was shaking, the careless word leaving a bitter, almost metallic taste in her mouth. Santana tried to push it down, to breathe through it. But it wouldn't subside no matter how hard she tried.

_Did I fuck her?_

She didn't utter a word as she brought her eyes up to the arrogant man before her. Without warning, Santana hurled the small frame at him as hard as she could. He ducked out of the way, the glass and wood shattering against the wall beside her bedroom door. He recovered after a moment, complete shock colouring his eyes and angular features. Santana just stared coldly back at him, her lips set in a hard line.

"You crazy bitch!"

"What the hell is going on?"

Santana's eyes flicked behind Puck, Brittany standing perplexed in the doorway. She had her keys and gym bag in hand, Santana's heart clenching at the sight of her best friend. The girl looked between them both, then down to the mess of broken glass on the floor.

"She's fucking crazy is what's going on," he muttered lowly, adjusting his leather jacket and backing away from the shards of glass.

"I think it's time you left," Brittany told him, looking him dead in the eye.

"Whatever," Puck sneered. "She's a slut anyways."

Brittany chuckled humourlessly at him, before reaching out a hand a grabbing the man just above the fork in his jeans. Santana watched in shock as she saw her twist ever so slightly, a tiny whimper escaping Puck's lips.

"Say that one more time, and I'll make sure you can never fuck again."

The blonde's words were said calmly, and without any emotion. It was the first time Santana had ever seen her like this, wondering again fleetingly of what it was, aside from the obvious, that got under Brittany's skin so much. After an icy moment, the man put his hands up in surrender, the girl slowly releasing her grip on his manhood. He backed away out the room, Brittany staring after him until she heard the echo of the front door slamming closed behind him.

Santana let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, her shoulders deflating. Brittany turned at the sound, a sad smile on her lips as she bent down to pick up the photo from the polished floorboards. With the let out breath, silent tears began sliding down her cheeks. The ache started back up in her chest, and the weight bore down on her again. It had her swallowing heavily, her head hitting her palms as she covered her eyes and clenched her jaw.

She felt the bed dip beside her and a warm body press against her side. Santana leant into her, a secure arm wrapping around her shoulders. It felt so good to be around her again, that familiar smell calming her considerably. Brittany was the one constant in her life, and she'd never been more thankful for her than she was in that moment.

"What happened?" Brittany asked in a soothing tone, rubbing gentle circles across Santana's back.

"I don't even know anymore," Santana huffed, her tears silently streaking down her cheeks. "But I walked away, and I'm not sure I should have. Now she's probably with him, doing..."

_Fuck._

"It was Puck," Brittany chimed out of nowhere.

"What was?" Santana mumbled, lifting her head to find Brittany looking at her with those kind eyes. They were a perfect blue and had her shuffling further into her, wanting to bathe in their pure light.

"The reason I was crying that time when we were fifteen, and I came over to your house," Brittany explained.

Santana sat up straighter, quirking a cautious eyebrow at her friend. Brittany seemed calm enough, but her stomach still churned at her words. She kept silent waiting for her to continue, not wanting to push her about something that Santana had honestly been curious about since she'd showed up on her doorstep that day.

"I was on my way to talk to Coach before cheer practice that afternoon," she began after a beat. "But she was with Beiste in the boys' locker room. So I went in there, and I overheard him bragging to his friends about you and what you guys had done. I got scared and walked straight back out."

She smiled wistfully, before turning serious. Santana slipped her hand into Brittany's, letting the girl continue with her story, even if she knew that a part of her was only telling it to distract her from Quinn and the tears that came with her.

"But then after practice he cornered me under the bleachers."

"Did he-"

"No, no," she shook her head almost manically before Santana could finish her thought. "But by the time I got to your house, I was a mess. Then you started comforting me and I couldn't bring myself to tell you." Santana smiled properly for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, not thinking she could love her best friend anymore than she already did. "And then we," Brittany trailed off with a sheepish grin as Santana pressed her lips to the girl's temple.

"I love you," Santana murmured, leaning into her.

She shut her eyes and let Brittany's bubble wash over her. It was the calming presence she needed in her haze of darkness. She could feel Brittany kiss her hair, pulling her in tighter to her side.

It was simple.

"And I wouldn't be so sure about Quinn," Brittany mentioned off-hand, Santana's eyes snapping open and focusing on her again. She placed the worn photograph back in Santana's lap that she'd retrieved from the floor. But it was when the girl put a wrinkled slip of paper down after it that her chest thudded painfully.

Santana had completely forgotten about it until now. Not wanting to have to see it, she'd slipped the old note behind the frame when they'd first arrived in their apartment, thinking that it would be like closing that chapter of her life. But seeing it again brought back all those old memories that she had tried her best to forget. She ran a gentle finger over it, the paper dry to the touch. It was worn and creased, but the faded ink of those three words still stood out against the white.

"And what makes you say that?" Santana sniffed, biting at her now quivering lip.

She turned to Brittany, who had leant over the side of her double bed and into her gym bag. When she straightened up, she was holding a small wrapped package in her hand, no bigger than the frame that lay broken on her floor. She dropped it to the comforter in front of Santana, the brunette's heart clenching at the exact shape and size of the brown paper.

_That's a journal._

"What's this?"

Her voice shook as she reached out a hand and picked it up. Her heart thudded beneath her chest as she turned over the plain package. It had no distinguishing markings, or features.

Just a plain package.

"I don't know," Brittany shrugged. "But it was left at the door with this."

She passed her a small piece of white card, deep black cursive written across its surface. More tears fell from Santana's eyes as she read the words, their simply honesty pulling at her already aching chest.

_**To you, I give my heart.**_

_That's Quinn's handwriting._

Santana brought up a shaking hand to her mouth in complete shock. She didn't want to believe it, but there it was staring her right in the face. This was Quinn's journal. It had to be. She read over those words again, her heart clenching with each new line.

"Are you going to be okay?" Brittany asked, voice full of concern.

"Yeah," Santana nodded, not able to manage more than a single syllable.

"Okay," Brittany relented softly after a minute. "Yell if you need me."

She pressed her lips once more to Santana's forehead and promptly left the room, leaving her sitting alone on her bed. The parcel felt heavy in her hands, Santana too scared to even open it, though she was sure of what it was. She took in a deep, calming breath before gripping the seam and tearing the brown paper to reveal that unmistakable dark leather. It sent her heart racing faster in her chest, and her skin flushing hot.

_This isn't real._

_Why would she give me this?_

Santana let it fall to the comforter, unsure if she wanted to read the pages she'd longed to read since she first saw its written word. She didn't know why she was hesitating. Whether it was in anticipation of finally getting what she wanted, or whether a part of her was suddenly afraid to let her back in. Once she opened that cover, it was all over. She would know what was behind those eyes. She would know everything.

_But do I still want that?_

The minutes that followed could have been the longest of Santana's life.

That's how long it took for her to pick the notebook back up, and open to the first page.

And with a shaky breath, she began to read.

_May 5th_

_Something unexpected happened today._

_I came to Europe to find myself, and to subsequently lose myself in the world. To find my purpose, and to have an experience that I would keep for the rest of my life. One I could tell my grandkids about, and write stories of. That was the plan since I was eight years old, and wanted nothing more than to disappear and leave everything I knew behind._

_That was the plan._

_But then I saw her._

* * *

><p><strong>Some people have wondered what it is with Puck, and why he acts the way he does. Well, he comes from a place where Beth and Quinn never existed for him. Which lead him to turn out just like his father, in a nutshell.<strong>

**Also I've re-released the part one playlist with more songs. Link is under my description on my tumblr – atigerindenim.**


	17. II: Behind These Hazel Eyes

_May 15__th_

_She said it._

_Those three words. _

_Those three simple words like it was no big deal. She breathed them as if it didn't hurt her to say them, and like she was just waiting to. Like they were always on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said. She held my hands in her own, and the most innocent of smiles was on those lips._

_And I think my heart actually stopped._

_I didn't expect that. I've heard them before, but never like this, never so honest or sincere, without ulterior motive or hidden agenda. And it hurt to hear them. It hurt, and I don't know why. You always imagine that you should feel elation when someone you care about says them to you. But I felt my heart stop, and that wall close in. I felt an ache start in my chest, and those hands feeling heavier with each breath, and I don't know why._

_Before I heard them, before the kiss and the rules, being near her was easy. It was still new, and unlabeled. It was fun. I could hide behind that fact. I could just be. But then I kissed her, and then she said them, and my walls got higher. Where I found myself only days ago wanting to be closer to her, I now find myself moving further away. Scared of something I'm afraid to even put a name to, because if it has a name, it becomes real. And if it becomes real, then these walls I've worked so hard to put up will fall away, and she'll see the real me, the me that I'm scared to show her. I hate being vulnerable around her, because then it just becomes easier for her to break me. My heart isn't safe with her._

_I did imagine myself saying them though, when we were in the taxi on the way back to the hotel. I was testing them out, even if I wasn't going to say them. Just seeing how it felt, not knowing that she was probably doing the same. She was sitting slumped on the leather back seat, looking at me with those eyes; the ones that make everything else fade away. A part of me just wanted to stare at her, without having her stare back. I thought it would make looking at her easier. I thought without those eyes, the deep emotion that comes with them would just be shut off. I would be able to breathe again._

_I was wrong._

_When I asked her to close them, I could still feel every part of her. Every sighing breath, every minute movement of her lips, every wave of heat that came off of her skin. It was intoxicating. It clouded my judgment, and I was so close to kissing her in that moment. It would have been so easy, and the feeling of her lips against mine would have been better than any drug. I got so close. But once again, I got scared and pulled away, afraid of letting myself feel. Then I thought that maybe just her hand might be safe, that creating this distance between us would be enough. _

_But again, I was wrong._

_Just the feeling of her, not just a single or certain part, but everything makes my skin, and my heart, and my body react. This shouldn't happen. When I asked her to come with me, it was only a small warmth in my chest. Not this feeling. Not this ache. And then she asked me, and I lied. She asked me why, and I told her it was just the drugs. But the truth is, even just the thought of it being more than that makes my chest hurt, and I can't breathe. And I don't know why. I don't know why I won't allow myself to feel. I can't be that afraid of being hurt, can I?_

_I know I'm falling for her; I'm not naïve enough to think differently. I've known that for a while now. I just don't know what that means. I've never felt like this before about anybody, nor has anyone shown me what she has in such a short time. And that's what scares me the most, that she can feel that for me. I don't see what she sees in me. All I see is broken, and dark. I don't see how she can say those three words to me after only ten days. She doesn't know me._

_I waited up most of the night, just watching her sleep, trying to figure that out. How someone could say something like that like it was nothing. Like it was just that simple. A part of me always thought that maybe hearing them from the right person, even though I don't believe in those words, would trigger something that was dormant inside of me. Maybe not make me understand, but at least give me an idea of what all the fairytales were eluding to._

_And I was right._

_And I hate it. I hate this feeling. It hurts. So I waited up for her, hoping that I could at least talk to her about it. Even though this feeling scares me to death, at least I had this ray of hope through this haze. I had her. _

_But she doesn't remember. _

_And that hurts even more, the fact that it could have well meant nothing, and that it was just a slip of the tongue. It makes me wish she never said it to me. I just want to forget it ever happened. She keeps looking at me right now like I'm hiding something from her. She knows I'm not being truthful. But how do I tell her something that I don't fully understand myself. _

_And what if she regrets it. That would hurt worse than her not remembering it at all. Because even though I don't believe or understand the notion that last night she seemed so sure of, having Santana tell me she made a mistake, or having her not share this feeling with me is too much for my already damaged heart to take. _

_It's selfish of me to wish this on anybody, especially someone as amazing as her. I know that. But I can't go through this alone. I guess that's something the fairytales neglect to tell you, that sometimes the princess might not love you back…_

Santana let out a strangled breath, and pushed her legs further and harder. Her white sneakers hit the pavement underfoot as music pumped from her iPod at a mind-numbing level. She brushed passed people on their way to work, crossing under one the many entryways into Central Park. It was still early, a fresh chill in the air, the sun just peeking through the trees.

She'd been running for nearly an hour, through underpasses and down side streets, but her mind wouldn't stray far from the words that she'd spent most of the night reading. It hurt to finally see them, entry after entry. It was like reliving those three weeks all over again. Except this time she was seeing the whole picture, and not just the one she painted for herself.

Tugging on her earplugs, she slowed to a jog just outside a high stone archway. She breathed in heavily, sweat pouring down her neck. The brunette took a seat on the nearby park bench and brushed her fringe away from her damp forehead. It was a spot Santana had stopped at several times. She would stop and look out over the Downtown end of Central Park, her eyes searching for that unmistakable blonde hair, or those perfect almond eyes. And now that she'd found them, she didn't have any reason to be there. But she didn't get up, her legs and body too exhausted to move.

As she read the journal the night before, she could practically see Quinn changing before her eyes. The entries had started out so hopeful and innocent, but then the rules happened, and the kiss, and Quinn began to fall. By the time they reached Barcelona, it was too late. Reading about that night, and about that fateful phone call was harder than she remembered. To finally know Quinn's reasoning behind breaking the rules, kissing her and what soon followed hurt. To know that it wasn't her way of saying goodbye, but rather her way of saying what her words could not. Her way of taking away Santana's pain so she wouldn't have to feel it. It was hard to relive.

But no matter how far she read into the night, her mind kept going back to Amsterdam. It was one of the only nights she ever truly regretted. Regretted for reasons she didn't care to admit, and ones she blocked off, even to herself. So to hear how it affected Quinn was hard to swallow. To read how insecure it made her, and the memories and long buried emotions it brought back wasn't something she ever imagined was happening at the time.

But the ache in her chest got lighter as the entries wore on. And there was a point when Quinn had just resided herself in to letting go and to just be, right around the time she decided to take her to Barcelona. So it wasn't until she saw a distinctive date in the top right-hand corner, in that neat cursive, that she had to stop. That date had haunted her for years. So when she saw it, she had to put the journal on her bedside table, suddenly afraid of what lay beyond it.

_May 20__th__._

_The night before we said goodbye._

Santana remembered watching her write that night. They'd just come back to the hotel, having spent the day at the Louvre, and visiting the Eiffel Tower. She'd walked into their apartment and sat down on her bed, Quinn going straight for the journal. She was inside her head more than usual that night, and Santana had watched her scribble almost feverishly. She could see the nerves in her hazel eyes, but also like a weight was lifting off her shoulders. It was as if writing down her thoughts erased the pain they brought.

So many things happened that day, so many things changed. It was the one day that Santana wanted to know about most, aside from the next morning. She always wondered what Quinn was feeling in their last hours together. Was she regretting having to leave her, or was she calm and collected. Santana saw her eyes at the train station. They were saddened, yet hopeful at the same time. Santana guessed that a part of Quinn knew they would see each other again. Quinn may not believe in love, but fate was another story. She always knew the blonde believed that everything happened for a reason, and that there were still small miracles left in the world.

_I wonder what she'd say about that now, though? _

Santana brought up a hand, running it through her slightly damp hair and letting out a heavy sigh. She'd left her apartment and a sleeping Brittany in an effort to clear her head. She wasn't ready to read that entry yet. She was scared for it. She'd been trying vainly all morning to put up her own walls for whatever lay within its pages. Santana didn't know what she expected to gain from reading the journal. She'd been so sure she wanted to, but now she wasn't entirely sure why. Was she seeking closure, or answers?

_Or am I just trying to find a reason to stay?_

* * *

><p>Santana tossed her iPod on her bed, the slim black object skidding across the comforter. It came to a rest near her nightstand, her eyes going straight to that dark cover. It just lay idle, exactly how she'd left it the night before. Its pages were still worn and crinkled, and its thin leather strap was still hanging off the side of the low table. She let out a huff, worrying her teeth against her bottom lip. She knew she'd have to finish reading it eventually; Santana was just prolonging the inevitable by avoiding it.<p>

But what if she didn't like what Quinn had to say about that day? What if it was easy for her to leave, or she really _did_ blame her for not just going with her? Or what if in the end she actually _wanted_ to leave, deciding that it wasn't worth the risk? That _she_ wasn't worth the risk?

_What if?_

Santana peeled off her tight black singlet, the material clinging to her skin. She discarded it in the corner of her room and wander off towards her ensuite, hoping the hot water would drown out her worried thoughts. As she stepped under the relentless stream, she tried to let them fall away, concentrating instead on the steaming droplets hitting her tanned skin. The brunette took in a deep breath. She knew what it said didn't matter. It happened years ago. How Quinn felt back then shouldn't effect what the girl felt for her now. But Santana's mind didn't let up with that ugly self-doubt. It made her chest pang with that familiar ache as she leant her hands against the tiled wall. Her fingers scraped down the smooth surface, feeling the ridges beneath her tips.

After a few minutes, she reached down and fumbled blindly for the metal taps, twisting them off as she kept her eyes on her shower wall. Santana stood there for a measureless moment, letting the water drip to the floor beneath her feet. It shouldn't be this hard. But that day was hard. She remembered counting down the hours they still had left. She remembered not knowing if it would be their last kiss, or their last embrace.

_That whole day was just us, and a dark shadow._

Grabbing a towel, Santana dried off, before wrapping it around herself. She walked back out to her room and sat down on her double bed, not bothering to get dressed. If she was going to do this, she was going to have to do it now. If she waited any longer, it might be days before she got the resolve again. With a quick breath, she picked the journal back up and flipped to the right entry. She swallowed heavily, running a finger down the worn page as she began to read, a lump already forming in her throat, even before she was past the first sentence.

_May 20__th_

_I said it._

_I think._

_Or at least I showed her._

_We were standing on a Love-Locks bridge in the middle of the city, just staring out over the river. The sun was this burnt orange, and we'd just finished at the Louvre, my poor attempt at trying to prolong the inevitable, take our minds of what was coming. Santana was looking at the couples lining the railing, watching them as they threw their keys into the water. She looked so beautiful, though I didn't tell her._

_I'd begun playing absently with the tiny lock on my backpack, not really thinking anything of it. I was just staring at her, as usual. Taking her in, trying to commit everything to memory. But then she turned, and looked at me. She looked at me with those eyes, and I just froze under them, like so many times before. Everything just faded away, and it was like we were alone. Just the two of us. I wanted to tell her so badly in that moment. Let her know what my heart had been feeling since the first time I saw her. But then she looked at the lock in my hands._

_I don't know why I did it._

_Forever is a long time._

_It's scary._

_But I did it anyway._

_After, I just walked over to her and I kissed her like there wasn't mere hours left for us. I honestly didn't care who saw, or what emotional consequences I would have to pay later. It was just us, and in that moment, even if it was only a moment, everything was perfect. The ache in my chest was still there, but maybe with time that would fade. Maybe it would become a brilliant burning, or a warmth so great it could engulf us both. _

_But right now, it's still an ache, and time isn't something that's on our side. It's running out, and I don't want to think about it. The past sixteen days have been the best of my life, and in some ways the worst. But I don't regret any of them. I regret asking her, yes. But I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't take it back. It was worth it. Santana is more than worth it._

_I just wish today could last forever. I wish I could just stop time, but I can't. I know I'm leaving in the morning, and it kills me. And I could see it killing her. She was so focused on that fact the entire day. It was written all over her face. And every time I asked her, that's all she could say. I know it's not in her nature to shut certain things out. She feels everything. She may not voice it, but it's always there beneath the surface. It's part of the reason I wanted to take that pain away. I can't stand to see it. Especially in Barcelona when I got that call, the call that changed everything. Or maybe it just made us face the reality of it all. _

_Either way, I took the pain from her the only way I knew how, just like with the lock today. I may not be good with words, but I am with actions. So if that's the only notion I can leave her with, if a promise of forever is all I can give to her, then maybe it might be enough. _

_It didn't stop me from wanting to say those words, though. I thought about telling her the whole day. But every time I tried, it would just get stuck. I know I want to be with her, just the thought of not being in her life tells me as much. But where I'm from, love doesn't make things better. It just complicates everything. I don't understand that simple love that she wants from me. I grew up in world where yelling abuse through a door and drunken slurs were considered forms commitment. I grew up knowing that the love in fairytales only existent in a world of imagination. Even though it was a world I found myself living in for most of it, I resided myself into thinking that that's all they ever were. Fairytales._

_But in saying that, I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to have to look into those perfect eyes, and say those words. But I know I have to. I had a plan before her. And if we're meant to be, a year won't change that. While I don't believe in love, or rather understand it, I believe in her. And I believe in fate. Everything happens for a reason. I met her for a reason, and I have to leave for a reason. That much I know. I'm not saying it's not going to be hard to be away from her, but I have faith that it will work itself out. It always does._

_I just wish I could tell her that. And not just those three words, but all them. Tell her how I feel, and why I have to go. It's still hard to be vulnerable around her. I think if I could just let her in, then maybe I wouldn't be in such a hurry to leave. Maybe I'd change my mind for her. Stay for her. Maybe I'm just scared of what would happen if I did stay, of what would happen to my heart. So, for now I'll take it with me. I just wish I wasn't taking hers too. It's going to destroy her, but I can't stay. I have to follow my dreams, and telling her how I feel will just make it that much harder to leave._

_But she deserves to know. I've always said that I'm better at writing my feelings. I know I feel them, and yet I still can't say them. It shouldn't be this hard._

_Those three simple words really shouldn't be this hard…_

"Oh my God..."

The words fell from Santana's parted lips as the lump rose higher in her throat. She reached out a finger, running it along the torn edge of the paper. It was curled slightly with age, the entire bottom half of the page missing. Silent tears began sliding down her flushed cheeks, her heart pounding dully beneath her chest. Her eyes moved to her nightstand where that wrinkled note lay with the photograph of the two of them. With shaking fingers, Santana picked up the slip of paper and placed it under the neat cursive. Its ruffled edge fit perfectly, like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

"_I love you_," Santana breathed, reciting the words that she'd read a million times.

_She actually tore it out._

_She wrote them down, but then tore it out._

She swallowed dryly before closing the journal, the note stuck between its pages. Santana wiped uselessly at her cheeks and took in a deep breath. She didn't know what to make of Quinn's words. Her heart felt heavy, and her tears continued to fall. She'd been bracing herself all morning and all through the night for a pain that never came. Santana's chest still hurt, but Quinn never blamed her for what happened. Santana going with her had never crossed her mind. It wasn't something that was easy. And she wasn't confused.

_She loved me._

Santana looked back to the journal still in her hands. She'd always wondered where the note had come from, and whether it was something she had planned to give to her. Whether she wrote it down that morning, or if it was something she'd always had with her, just waiting for the right moment. But now as she looked at the entry, it was almost as if she wrote them down just to get them off her chest, to take away the pain of carrying them around with her.

_So why tear them out then?_

Flipping absently through the remaining pages, Santana let a sigh escape her down turned lips. She remembered the entry from the next morning, the paper warped, with tears blurring the dark ink. Santana didn't bother trying to read it. She wasn't sure she even wanted to. If it was anything compared to the pain and heartache she went through at Quinn leaving, Santana didn't think she would ever be ready to see those words. So she turned her eyes back to her nightstand and placed the journal down on the polished wood.

As she did, her fingers brushed gently over the small memory card that still lay untouched near her bedside lamp. She placed it there the previous afternoon when she had attempted to unpack, only to be stopped by their photo, its frame now laying broken on the floor. She palmed the tiny drive, turning it over in her fingers. Something about Tia's tone that night and the odd expression in his eyes had stopped her from finding out what was on it. It frankly scared her to think what moments he was privy to, and what moments even Santana wasn't there for.

_Good ol' Mr. What If._

_Fuck it._

Taking it in her hand, she made her way down the hall and into Brittany's bedroom. Santana could hear the running water coming from under the bathroom door across the hall as she crossed over to the girl's bed and sat down on the bright yellow comforter. Her friend's laptop lay open at her bedside, Santana grabbing it and unceremoniously shoving the drive into a spare port. She waited for it to load, but when those photographs flashed up on the wide screen, she was rendered speechless, her stomach sinking slightly.

Her eyes began to sting as she flipped through them, each one hurting more than the last. It was like a photo reel of their last three days together. Some were of Quinn, or of just Santana on their own. But most were of both them, laughing, smiling, touching. Anyone would think they were a normal couple. They looked happy. There were the shots of them posing in the tunnels, and the photos taken with the women at his family's restaurant, and another just outside his aunt's house.

But it was the candid shots he had taken that were what caused fresh tears to spill down Santana's cheeks. He had captured them at the gift store at the tunnels, Santana's arm resting on the glass cabinet, the two of them close together. Her fingers were within brushing distances of Quinn's, the nervous look in those hazel eyes making Santana click to the next photo, and to one of them together on the back porch of his aunt's place. Santana's head was bowed as she was taking a bite of fruit, but Quinn's gaze was trained on the brunette, just staring at her as she ate. She seemed almost mesmerized, the lump in Santana's throat growing thicker.

Her hand began to shake as it changed to the ones taken on the river cruise a few nights ago. They were of the festivities below deck, of Quinn dancing and Santana watching her as she spun. Of them talking as they sat next to each other at the small table, their faces mere inches apart. But then it came to the ones of them alone on the top deck, the red light from the surrounding lanterns casting an eerie glow over the two of them. Santana's throat continued to get tighter and tighter as her eyes flicked over every detail of the photos on screen, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

They were of Quinn leaning her back against the railing, her eyes lost in rest of the city lights, with her elbows resting on the old wood.

Of Quinn asking Santana to dance, her hand outstretched towards her with that smile lighting her slight features, and Santana's mouth just starting to mirror the other girl's, her teeth biting into her full bottom lip.

Of Quinn with her arms around Santana, pulling her in closer with her left hand on her lower back. The other seemed to just gently play with long brown hair that fell past her shoulders, a peaceful light in her almond eyes.

_And then one of Quinn leaning in to…_

Santana dropped her head, unable to keep looking at them. Tears fell onto the small keyboard as her shoulders visibly shook. She tried to breath in deeply, but it was no use. Her chest felt like it was going to close in on itself, and her head just throbbed while her ears rang. Everything hurt, and she didn't know how to make it stop. Just seeing photos of them together, of how happy they were and the look in Quinn's eyes as she leant in to kiss her was becoming too much.

_This isn't real._

Santana placed a hand on the screen to pull it closed just as the bed dipped beside her and warm arms wrapped around her shoulders. She sighed heavily as she dropped her hand and blindly turned into the embrace. Brittany didn't say a word, reaching out and closing her laptop in one swift movement. She pressed her lips into her hair and just let Santana work through the pain. Brittany knew not to say anything, only stopping to murmur _it's okay _into her ear every few minutes. It wasn't until Santana had calmed down and was just leaning against her that she spoke again.

"Have you called into work?"

"I messaged Holly about an hour ago," Santana mumbled into her bare skin, her hands buried in Brittany's towel that was wrapped around her. She pulled in closer to her, shutting her eyes and just letting the girl's presence wash over her.

_Why can't I feel this safe with Quinn?_

_I'd give anything just to have this feeling with her._

"Come with me to the studio."

"I don't know, Britt," Santana sniffed, lifting her head slightly.

"Come on, I don't have any classes today. No one's going to be there. You can just watch me dance," she suggested, brushing her fingers through Santana's hair. "I'll even drag out the yoga mats, and we can just lay on them and pretend we're on my trampoline back home. We can try and find shapes in the ceilings fans."

"That sounds perfect."

* * *

><p><em>September 23<em>_rd_

_I've just been sitting here for the past hour watching the stewardesses and the other passengers walking up and down the aisles. Watching the elderly woman two seats over knitting a bright blue sweater as her needles click together. And staring out the tiny window at the darkened night sky, and the white billows of cloud we pass through. But mostly, I've been watching her sleep. Just sitting here trying to imagine what it would be like not to be able to touch her hand, or hear that voice, or run my fingers through her hair. It's been one hour, and I can't do it. Every image my mind conjures, there she is. Every song I sing, or book I read, there she is in every line._

_I think that's love. Not being able to imagine your life without the other person in it. To not be able to imagine not holding them as they fall asleep, or being the first person they see when they wake. Getting to hold their hand as you walk down a crowed street, or kiss them just because you can. And it hurts to imagine it being anyone but her. Because Santana is all I can see when I close my eyes, and she's the only one I want to see when I open them._

_So I think that's love._

_And I've finally realised that it isn't about me. It never was and it never should have been about me, or what I wanted. When I say those words, it has to be about her. And I don't know why I'm only just now realizing that. She deserves to be told everyday for the rest of her life that she is loved, and that she is worth it. To be told that to me, she is perfect in every way. And while I'm still scared, I need to do this for her. I want to do this for her. To show her I meant what I said when we were nineteen and standing on a bridge in the middle of Paris. I meant it when I said forever, even though it took me just as long to realise it._

_But as I watch her, I can't help looking down at the text message from Michael, telling me he'll be at the airport tomorrow afternoon, and it makes me feel sick. I honestly hadn't thought about him until I saw the date on my phone. September 22__nd__, the day we met all those years ago. But thinking back to that time, I don't feel anything. At least not nearly as much as when I think back five months prior to that, but then again anything would dim in comparison. _

_So when I saw that date on the ride home from our river cruise, I had to message him, if not as his girlfriend, then as his best friend. I thought I might have texted happy anniversary, or something of the like. But what ended up coming out was me asking if he was still going to be there when I landed. A part of me only asked to tell him not to bother, to tell him that I would just see him when I got home. And then when I didn't receive a reply it was like he wasn't even there, like he didn't exist outside the world Santana and I had created for ourselves. And then she just looked at me and everything faded away, and it was like he didn't._

_I know what I did, or what I have been doing for weeks now is wrong. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like that, and it's going to break his heart when I tell him. And I will. But he deserves to be told in person, I owe him that much. I may not be in love with him, but he's still my best friend. So when I got his reply at our stop over, I couldn't help that nausea that churned in my stomach at seeing those words. And when I looked over at Santana, I could just see that she knew something was wrong. But as always with us, she didn't say a word. I'm not sure if I should be thankful for that or not.  
><em>

_I guess I just don't want to think about it. And even more so, I don't want to see last night as anything but perfect. I don't regret it. Being that close to her again was everything I remember it being and more. When she touches any part of me, I feel it everywhere. Even when she isn't touching me at all, I still feel her. Even right now. It makes me wonder how I could possibly be so lucky to find someone as patient, and forgiving as she is. But my world has never made sense to me before, so I won't start questioning it now. _

_But the text is still staring me in the face, and burning a whole in my hand. I know I should tell her that he'll be there when we land, but not yet. I want to hold on to this feeling a little longer, even if it's only for a few more hours. I don't want the veil to be pulled away just yet. I want to feel her sleeping next to me for just a little while longer. Then maybe when she wakes up, I let her know. I just wish I could tell her everything before we get back to New York. But I want to do it without feeling guilty about my words. I already feel it enough already. I just hope she can understand that. Just a few more hours and I will._

_So the only thing for me to do now is prepare for what awaits me when I get home. I've never been good with words, and Michael's such a good guy. He deserves better than me. Better than what I've given to him. So does Santana, she deserves the world, one I know I can't give to her. But I'm much too selfish to let her live without me. And who knows, maybe we can find that world together…_

Santana's shoulders slumped under the weight of it all as she closed the last few pages and dropped the journal to the wooden floorboards. She felt completely drained, emotionally and physically. She now knew what was behind those eyes, and what Quinn had been thinking when they were together. But she wasn't sure if it changed anything between them. They were just words after all. Santana knew that Quinn was the one that wrote them, but what was she meant to do with that. She also knew now that the girl wanted to be with her, but again where did she go from here. She wasn't going to feel guilty either for walking away, no matter what it said. It's just a journal. They were just words.

_How can I have all the answers, yet none at all?_

"What did it say, anyway?"

Santana looked up as Brittany wandered over, a towel around her neck and a water bottle to her lips. The girl had been dancing for hours while the light outside the high windows turned dark, and a fresh breeze now drifted through the studio. Santana sat on the floor of the large rectangular room, leaning against a freestanding shelf full of CDs and fresh towels, the journal idle at her feet. She held Brittany's gaze with a defeated shrug, before looking back down at her now empty hands.

"Everything I wanted to hear. It's practically Nicholas_ fucking_ Sparkes," Santana laughed bitterly. "But that's the thing, I needed to _hear_ it."

"Guess I better start talking then."

Santana's head snapped to the now open door of the studio, that voice that still made her heart race reaching her ears. Quinn was leaning against the doorway, looking at her with those perfect eyes, a small smile on her lips. Santana could feel her erratic pulse in her throat and her lungs straining for breath. It hurt just to look at her right now. She wasn't ready.

_Why is she here?_

"Oops, must have left the door unlocked," Brittany chimed innocently as she picked up her gym bag along with her jacket. Santana stared silently after her as she brushed passed Quinn and dropped the set of studio keys into her waiting hand. The girl disappeared through the door, leaving Santana alone.

"Remember, no sex on the hardwood…"

It came only as an echo down the hall, causing Quinn to chuckle breathily. But it caused Santana to get to her feet and back her way over the other side of the room, placing distance between them. Brittany's words were meant to be jesting, but her head and her heart wouldn't see it that way. She couldn't even speak. Seeing Quinn again, even though it had only been three days, had Santana wanting to just run over to her, and take her in her arms and never let go again. To see those eyes and that smile, and just _Quinn_ had that familiar sense of drowning come over her and cloud her rational mind once more.

But it was her that was breaking, not Quinn. She was the one that was no longer safe, and she wasn't sure how much more she could take. She wasn't sure if she wanted to put herself through any more pain, no matter how she felt about the girl standing before her. And what was worse, she now had no time to decide that for herself.

"Why are you here?" Santana asked timidly, her back now pressed up against the mirrored wall opposite the door, her hands seeking the wooden railing that lined the entire room.

"I asked Brittany-"

"You know what," Santana interrupted, clenching her eyes shut for a moment and bringing a hand up just to make sure she stopped. She wasn't sure if she could listen to her right now without breaking down again. "You once told me I was the only one that could break your heart. But from where I'm standing, I'm the only one that's been breaking."

"One day someone will come along, and you'll wonder why you ever doubted it."

"What?"

"That's what you told me right before I kissed you for the first time," Quinn stated calmly, taking a step forward, her ballet flats echoing softly around the room. "A part of me knew you were talking about yourself, but I was too scared to let myself believe it. Scared that I would give myself over to these intense feelings that I had, only for you to walk away."

"What?" Santana exclaimed, finding her voice and arching forward off the mirror. "How could you _possibly_ think that-"

"No," Quinn cut in gently before Santana could finish, placing a finger to her lips in a silencing gesture. "It's my turn."

Santana bit down on both her lips and leant heavily against the back wall again. She kept her eyes on the blonde as she paced further into the studio, a slightly apprehensive expression on her beautiful features. Santana forced herself to keep silent as Quinn neared the shelf she was sitting at only moments before.

"I thought that you'd realize I was too broken, scared that you'd finally see the real me, and turn and run. So, I closed myself off, and I checked out," Quinn continued through a shaky breath. "I didn't know any other way. The only examples I had to go on growing up were drunken screaming and shattering glass against bedroom walls. Being witness to that, you learn not let people in. Or rather, you don't _want_ to let them in. But you stayed. You didn't run. And no matter how distant I became, you always found a way to tear down the walls I put up. It got to the point where all you had to do was look at me, kind of like you are now."

Santana bit down further on her pursed lips to keep them from trembling at Quinn's words, gripping the railing even tighter behind her back. It felt like she was in that hotel room in Hoi An again, listening to her talk about the things that she knew about the two of them. She didn't know what to feel. All she could do was just stand there and listen to the girl of her dreams talk while she tried not to let her tears fall down her already flushed cheeks.

Quinn dropped her intense gaze after a moment, spotting her journal on the floor and bending down with a wistful smile to pick it back up. She looked over to Santana as she absently flipped through its worn pages, that smile still on her lips, though her eyes held that scared longing Santana knew so well.

"We always said that Europe was to the unexpected," she murmured. "Well, _you_ were my unexpected, Santana. You made me feel things that I spent my _whole_ life convincing myself didn't exist. And for the longest time I refused to believe that these things you were making me feel were love, because I've never known it, nor been shown it before you. Or since."

Santana tried not smile at that last part, the pure honesty in Quinn's voice tearing at her already broken chest. But she stayed standing, just watching her as she turned to an entry in the book, holding it up for Santana to see. She recognized the jagged edge of the page instantly, her heart settling higher in her throat.

"When I tore out this part of my journal that night, it wasn't because I was going to give it to you. I wasn't. I _never_ was," she told her thickly. "Seeing those words back then, I couldn't stand to look at them knowing I could never say them. But then just the thought of leaving without having told you how I felt, to leave with them was too much for me, so I turned around and I came back to you."

Silent tears had started streaking down Quinn's cheeks as she closed the journal and rested it on the top shelf. Santana wiped uselessly at her eyes, it was all she could do not to let her own tears fall. The other girl took in an uneasy breath and leant back against the shelf, before looking up Santana, that same honesty shining in her deep hazel eyes.

"Then a few weeks ago, you came back into my life, and I was right back where I started," Quinn sighed with a small shake of her head. "I'd been without you for so long, without that feeling you gave me that I didn't know how to cope. So like clockwork, I closed myself off, and I checked out. But then when we were alone, it was like those three weeks all over again. My walls came crashing down, and I fell further and harder. You had that hold on me again, and I couldn't shake it. I didn't want to shake it."

Quinn let a laugh escape, though it came out as more of a strangled choke. Those eyes found the ceiling for a moment as she tried to compose herself, blinking back more of her tears. Santana's short nails were digging into the wood of the railing. She didn't know where this was going, or what Quinn was trying to say to her. Santana didn't know whether she was just giving her the answers only to walk away again, or if this was her finally letting herself feel.

"So when you walked away from me," Quinn said through a laboured breath, bringing her gaze back down. "I finally understood what you went through when I got on that train, and I'm _so_ sorry for that. I'm sorry that I didn't give you a choice back then. I made it for you, and that wasn't fair on either of us. I left it up to fate, and you were right, life isn't like the movies. Fate wasn't listening."

Santana watched as she seemed to close her eyes for a moment and take another step forward. It echoed around the empty studio, the only other sound, apart from the brunette's heavy breathing, was the turning of the ceiling fan and the distant horns coming from the darkened Brooklyn street below. And when Quinn spoke next, her voice held something that Santana hadn't ever heard come from those lips. It was reserved, and hopeful, and full of something she couldn't quiet place.

"But while life isn't a fairytale, I finally understand them now," Quinn said wistfully. "I finally understand what they all spoke about, the ones I convinced myself only lived within the pages I would read as a kid. The ones that spoke of a love that no length of time, or space could conquer. Ones where two strangers would lock eyes across a crowded room, and the rest of the world would just fade out."

The girl paused for a moment and paced even closer as Santana's stomach twisted anxiously. The brunette was doing her best to fight off the smile that was fighting its way to the surface, the look in Quinn's eyes making it hard to even breathe at this point.

"And the ones where the prince waited three _long_ years to let the princess finally know how he really felt," she finished with a tearful smile.

Not being able to wait through the seconds of silence that just seemed stretch longer and longer, Santana finally cut through them with a shaky voice.

"What are trying to say, Quinn?" she barely managed, the darker girl practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, just aching to hear those words.

"The same thing that I've been trying to say to you since the day you told me that I'd know when I found her," Quinn shrugged sheepishly. "I love you, Santana. Always have."

Santana stayed silent. She couldn't think, or speak, or breathe. Everything was just white noise and those three words. She let them wash over as she closed her eyes. The ache in her chest slowly started to fade, it thudded once, twice, and then it just ceased. And then a warmth began to spread over her body that had her bracing herself against the railing. She vaguely registered the sound of shuffling feet, and the sharp intake of a breath in front of her, before that honey sweet voice continued in a rush of words, each one seeming to just fall from her lips.

"And it's not that I can't live without you, it's just that I don't want to. I've done it for too long, and I don't want to do it anymore. I don't ever want to have to say goodbye to you again, or just stand there and watch as you leave."

Santana couldn't hold onto them any longer, letting her tears slowly slide down her cheeks. She kept her eyes closed as quite sobs began to rack her slight frame. She kept breathing, her hands that gripped the railing the only thing keeping her upright.

"Santana?" Quinn asked, worry clear in her tone.

"Say it again," she breathed.

"What? All of it?"

Santana choked back a laugh, and just simply shook her head. It was a moment before she heard Quinn's footsteps getting closer and closer. She stayed leaning on the wall behind her, not daring to let her grip go. After a while, Santana felt the ghost of a touch, and then the feeling a small body press up against her, warm and close. She sighed into Quinn, her breath tickling at her ear as she appeared to rest her hands on the mirror behind her head.

"I love you," she whispered in her ear, her nose brushing lightly against the side of her cheek.

"Keep going," Santana sighed, her hands bunching in Quinn's loose top.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I love you."

Each one was husked into her ear, the next holding more weight than the last. And with each, Santana pulled her further and further in until Quinn's whole body was bearing down on her. But Santana didn't care. It felt amazing being this close to her. It didn't hurt. It didn't flare the now nonexistent ache. It was addictive, but not damaging. It sent all her nerve ending alight, but they didn't fizzle out. The brilliant burning wouldn't cease, and as Quinn began brushing her lips softly down Santana's jaw and across to the corner of her mouth, a different kind of ache began low in her stomach, starting a burn all of its own.

"Look at me."

Santana edged her eyes open to be confronted with dark hazel. There was no clouded void. There were no traces of hesitation. All she saw was just pure want and love, and it had Santana's hands pulling harder against the material of Quinn's top, the girl stumbling even further into her. The blonde's lips grazed Santana's, hers parting at their own accord. Quinn only waited a moment before whispering hotly against her mouth, Santana whimpering as those words shot through her.

"I love you."

Quinn wasted no time, crashing her lips to Santana's, her hands seeking out her jaw, while tanned ones went straight for the girl's lower back. Santana raked them underneath her shirt, her fingers connecting with soft skin. The railing bit painfully into her back as Quinn pushed hard against her, but Santana ignored it, her mind concentrating on the intoxicating feeling of those lips and those hands. They left a burning trail down her neck, and had her gasping for air.

This didn't feel like any other time she'd had Quinn. It wasn't saying anything that those countless times before had said. The first time in Barcelona, and the second, and the third, and the fourth, all the way up until their last time in Paris. Each, just beneath the surface of _I love you_ and _I'll miss you_, had an underlining goodbye. She remembered feeling it with every touch, and every flick of the girl's tongue. It was like a heartbeat, a rhythm.

But as Quinn reached for Santana's denim shorts, popping the top button and pulling on her metal zipper. As Santana grabbed for the girl's top and yanked her arms free. Even as she ran her fingers down beneath the hem of Quinn's underwear, there was no heartbeat, or rhythm. There was no _I'll miss you_. And there was no goodbye.

It was only_ I love you_.

It was that simple.

* * *

><p>"Do you think Brittany will be mad?"<p>

"Britt said the hardwood," Santana stated firmly with smirk. "She mentioned nothing about her yoga mats."

Quinn giggled beneath her, Santana letting the effortless sound wash over her. She leant her head against the girl's chest, drawing small patterns on her bare stomach, sending goose bumps over her perfect olive skin. It was peaceful and calming, Santana breathing in and not feeling anything but that for the umpteenth time. She was still getting used to the warmth in her chest, her lips pulling up every time her mind concentrated on where she was and whose arms she was currently in.

_I'm never going to get used to this, am I?_

_I could wake up in your arms a thousand times, and even then I still won't be._

"Hey, I know that me giving you my journal, and telling you that I love you isn't going to be enough to make things okay," Quinn murmured, Santana loving the sound of those three words coming from her perfect lips. "And I can't promise that I'm always going to let you in. You're just going to have be really patient with me, okay?"

"I know, it's okay," Santana nodded softly, reaching up her free hand to run a gentle finger along her jaw. "I love you."

She reached up and pressed her lips gently to Quinn's, the warmth flaring in her chest and her eyes closing for a long moment. She reluctantly broke the kiss and settled her head back down, her hands resuming their absent wanderings.

"So, does this make us girlfriends, or what?" Santana asked out of curiosity. She'd never had to label their relationship before now, it seemed a strange notion to do so, no word seeming to fit.

"I don't really like the word girlfriend," Quinn confessed, a playful scowl on her lips. "I don't think it _quite_ describes us."

"Soulmates?"

"Too cheesy and cliché," Quinn said shaking her head, her fingers brushing up and down Santana's arm.

"What about partners?" Santana suggested with shrug, her eyes craning up to meet Quinn's bright almond ones.

"Too old, sounds like we've been together forever."

Santana thought about it for a moment her lips quirking at her words as she pressed a light kiss just below Quinn's collarbone, earning a shiver from the girl next to her.

"It's so strange to think that technically we've only spent like two months together."

"It feels like a lifetime," Quinn mused.

They were both silent for a moment, Santana reaching a finger up and tracing the valley between Quinn's bare breasts, before trailing down toward her navel. She stopped when it reached the large towel they draped across their legs against the chill. They left their torsos bare, the warmth from their bodies enough to ward off the night air.

"I think we should invent new words."

"Yeah, because you're so good with the ones we already have," Santana deadpanned, stifling her laughter against Quinn's side.

"Hey," she scolded, flicking her on the arm.

"Too soon?"

"A little," she mumbled with a slight grin. "Why don't I just call you roomie?"

"It would probably make more sense if we were living together, though," Santana mentioned off hand, before looking back up into those eyes. They held a certain weight to them, Quinn quirking her brow suggestively at her. It sent butterflies to her stomach and had her arms tighten around her small waist.

"Fine, roomie it is," she relented, not putting up any fight on the matter. "But I get to call you cheap whenever I want."

"Deal."

Santana let her arms go slack, crawling up Quinn's body and settling comfortably between her legs. The girl beneath her just grinned at her, wrapping them around her and pulling her in to meet her waiting lips. Santana let a groan slip from her throat, as that tongue met hers, leaving her slightly lightheaded. After a moment, Santana placed her hands either side of Quinn's head and pulled back to look into those eyes that held nothing but hazel, and pure love and want. It still took Santana by surprise, the girl smiling lazily down at Quinn.

"This is going to work, right?" she asked, turning thoughtful for second. "Us?"

"Of course it will," Quinn assured, gently brushing a finger over Santana's flushed lips. "It'll be as if we never said goodbye."

* * *

><p><strong>End of Part Two<strong>


	18. Epilogue: Blueprints For Future Homes

A cool wind had picked up, blowing her long hair around her face. Santana brought up a hand and tucked the loose strands behind her ear as she leant against the metal railing, breathing in the midmorning sea air. The subtle smell of gasoline reached her senses as a smile crept across her slightly chapped lips. She closed her eyes, the bright sunlight swimming just beneath her lids. It was calming. The freeing, almost weightless feeling spread through to her chest, and had her breathing easier with each intake. The sound of seagulls and distant horns from passing boats met her ears just as two arms slipped around her waist, pulling her close.

Santana sighed into the embrace, turning her head to softly brush her cheek against cool olive skin. The girl giggled, tightening her hold and resting her chin on Santana's shoulder. The brunette brought her eyes back to the water, the Harbour Bridge stretching out before her and beyond to Luna Park. The view was beautiful. Tourists and locals crowded the port's edge, and further right toward the Opera House. It was busy, yet an overwhelming sense of calm was in the air. Santana had been to many cities in her life, from Paris and New York to Saigon and more recently Johannesburg. But there was something about Sydney with its blue waters and white sandy beaches that just held a different pace for her. She hugged her leather jacket tighter against the cold, her eyes still on the horizon.

"Look, I don't want you to take this the wrong way," the blonde murmured softly in her ear, breaking Santana away from the view. "But your girlfriend is_ really _weird."

"I heard that."

Santana and Brittany both turned at the sound of that voice, the girl's tone holding a hint of amusement. Quinn was standing with Brittany's boyfriend, Jeremy, a few feet away by an old street lamp, her Nikon in her grasp. That smile was lighting her features, sending a warmth to Santana's chest as her lips pulled up to mirror hers. Both girls giggled, Santana turning in Brittany's arms with a grin.

"Yeah, I know," she smirked, glancing at Quinn as she spoke. "But she's _so_ good in bed."

"I heard that too," Quinn stated, making her way over to them with that smile still in place.

"You're not the only one," Brittany deadpanned, passing her on her way back to Jeremy. The dark-haired man opened his arms, hugging his girlfriend tight and placing a small kiss to her forehead as they began to walk away, leaving the two girls alone.

"Hey you," Quinn chirped, placing her hands on the railing either side of Santana's hips.

"Hi," she breathed, gently pushing forward to capture her lips. Quinn hummed contently into her mouth as Santana brought her left hand up to rest on her cheek, her thumb brushing over soft skin. Quinn broke the kiss after a moment, only to press her lips to the inside of Santana's wrist and over subtle dark ink. She smiled at the loving gesture, her eyes going down to the same two words etched on Quinn's right wrist, her bare skin in plain sight just below her white knitted pullover.

_Three weeks._

They'd been talking about getting them for a while, the small tattoos serving as a reminder of when they first met. But in true Quinn style, it wasn't until they were passing their local parlour one afternoon a few months back that she'd dragged her inside. That was one thing that had never changed. It had been nearly a year since the dance studio and Quinn had never stopped being that girl. The one that did everything at the drop of a hat, and the one Santana fell for all those years ago.

"You're just lucky that I love you," Quinn murmured, running her fingertips over the two darkened words. Santana watched those fingers brush across her skin, a lazy smile tugging at her lips at the calming feeling.

"And why's that?"

"Because your cursive is absolutely terrible," Quinn teased, bringing her own wrist up between them. Santana lowered hers from Quinn's cheek, smirking at the clear difference in the handwriting. At the time it seemed romantic when Quinn told her she wanted Santana to be the one to write the words. And she'd agreed, knowing that hers would be in that same neat cursive as her note and of the journal Quinn had kept.

"Hey, it was your idea," Santana countered. "Someone's not having buyer's remorse, are they?"

"No, I'm just saying."

Quinn pouted adorably, Santana leaning forward again. She pressed her lips to the girl's in an attempt to rid her of the playful scowl on her face, Quinn smiling into the kiss before pulling back. She kept her grip loosely on the cool metal, trapping Santana against the railing. But she didn't fight it, simply watching as bright sunlight danced in Quinn's perfect hazel eyes, and watched that smile she loved so much spread across her face.

She still remembered waking up on that first morning. The chirping of birds and the distant ring of jackhammers from the construction site down the street had started her. She'd slowly edged her eyes open, feeling the weight of an arm across her waist and the sound of light snoring in her ear. Santana had to blink a few times before her mind had registered Quinn lying next to her. She didn't trust her brain enough for it not to have been a cruel joke, or just a vivid dream. But as she reached out a hand and began to run her fingers lightly through that soft blonde hair, and watch as those almond eyes opened fully, she finally let her heart believe it.

"So, have you found something to write about?" Santana asked in conversation while her eyes scanned the surrounding buildings. "Anything stuck out yet?"

"No, not yet," Quinn said with a shrug. "But there's always tomorrow. Guess you're just stuck here for a few more days, roomie."

"Aren't you sick of that yet?"

"What, roomie?" Quinn noted, before shaking her head with a grin. "Nope, in our wedding vows it's going to say do you Quinn Fabray take Santana _Roomie_ Lopez to be your lawfully wedded wife."

"Marriage, huh?"

"Oh yes, and in ten years we're going to adopt two kids," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "A boy and a girl, ages 17 and 14."

"Specific," Santana chimed. Quinn giggled at her lack of enthusiasm, placing her hands on her hips before sliding them slowly around her waist. Santana sighed in playful reluctance, pulling her back with her against the railing.

"And we'll be the family they never had."

"The family _we_ never had," Santana tacked on, before bringing her hand up to rest on her cheek again. "But just so you know, I want one with your eyes someday too."

Quinn's mouth popped open slightly at her words. Santana giggled as bright red made its way up her neck, the girl ducking her head shyly, breaking their gaze. The brunette ran her fingers gently under Quinn's eyes, before brushing them down to the smooth skin of her cheeks.

_God, I love that blush._

"Well, we better get back to Paris then if marriage is on the cards," Santana jested, dropping her hand away from her face as another cool wind picked up around them.

"Yeah, we never did get that free meal."

"Cheap," Santana retorted with a small shake of her head. "Is that all I'm worth to you?"

Quinn shot her a smile at the teasing comment. She narrowed her gaze after a moment as an odd look passed across those eyes. It had Santana's stomach turning uncomfortably and biting nervously at her bottom lip.

"No, Santana," Quinn breathed. "You're worth me getting down on one knee, and me taking your left hand gently in mine, like so."

As she spoke, Quinn dropped to the ground before her and pulled a tanned hand into her own. Santana's heart instantly leapt into her throat at the sight, the girl gazing up at her from the worn pavement below.

"Holy shit."

"And to have me tell you that nearly a year ago I gave you my heart, not knowing that it wasn't actually something I had to give," Quinn began with a shaky breath. "Because Santana, you've held it since the first time I saw you on an old bench in the middle of a crowded train station."

Her voice wavered slightly, Santana's mouth going dry as Quinn continued to hold her hand. Santana had no words. Her whole body had gone numb and her pulse was tearing at her chest. Tears pulled at her eyes, and all she could do was stand there as Quinn knelt of bended knee in front of her. She didn't register any of the other tourists standing around them, or any of the passing boats or ferries. It was just the two of them, everything else fading out.

"I hoped for the existence of love when we visited Juliet, and even as I covered your hand in mine I was still too blind to see it," she smiled, breaking eye contact to focus on Santana's hand. "I promised forever on an old bridge because words failed me. And even now I struggle to find the right words to say to you. But then you once said that some of us should just skip the talking part and go for it."

As Quinn recalled the words, she got to her feet and looked into Santana's shocked brown eyes, before leaning in, their lips only inches apart. Santana's eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, her heart not fully registering what was happening. She could feel her warm and close, the briefest of touches ghosting across her bottom lip. Her ragged breaths were hitting Quinn's open mouth as she felt hands slide up her neck and hers bunch in the girl's knitted pullover. Santana held there, but when she didn't feel Quinn's expectant touch, she slowly opened her eyes to be met with cool hazel and the hint of a smirk.

"There'll of course be fairy lights and a string quartet, and also rose petals scattered tastefully at your feet," Quinn listed off calmly, retracting her hands from tanned skin. "And there is also the me asking for your hand part. It's still in the brainstorming stages, so it's a little rough."

_Oh. _

_My._

_Fucking._

_God._

Santana couldn't even string two syllables together, her hands still buried in Quinn's jumper. She let out a strangled breath, before her head fell back and her eyes were met with bright blue sky. Taking a minute to right herself, she began to laugh, which seemed to be the only reaction her body was capable of at that moment.

"I forget how much better you are at this sometimes," Santana managed after a minute.

"I have my moments," Quinn shrugged.

_You sure do._

_Fuck._

"So, where to from here?" she coughed nervously, still trying to gain some resemblance of composure.

"I just told you," Quinn shot back. "Paris."

"Ha ha," Santana deadpanned, nudging her playfully. "I was talking about five minutes from now."

"Oh, well that's for me to know."

_Of course it is._

* * *

><p><strong>There will be a Part Three coming soon. It will be AIWNSG from Quinn's point of view and will answer many of your questions about her and her life. <strong>

**And on a side note the playlist for Part Two is up on my tumblr – willowsagehart – under the link **_**Fanfiction Soundtracks**_** for those who are interested.**


	19. III: May 4th 2013

**There are always two sides to every story…**

* * *

><p><span>PART III<span>

_Take me back to the start…_

* * *

><p><em>Three seconds.<em>

_Three weeks._

_Three years._

_That's what it took._

_That's what it took for me to fall for her. _

_For me to admit it to myself._

_And then for me to admit it to her._

_Three long years, and I knew after just three seconds._

_But then when you're nineteen, three seconds can change your life._

_And Santana certainly changed mine._

* * *

><p>The sharp hiss of steam met her ears, as she dug into her warm leather jacket. She could feel the cool metal coins rolling against her fingertips as she fished them from her pocket and placed a few on the finished countertop. She regarded the young barista with a smile, the dark-haired man passing her the takeaway cup, and gesturing toward the lids off to the side of the cart.<p>

"_Merci_," she murmured, taking it gladly.

Shuffling off to her left, she slowly stirred in a satchel of sugar, her eyes on the sleek trains and the crowded platforms around her. The chatter from the other travelers echoed off the high ceilings, children of all ages running across the tiled floors while their parents read newspapers and checked their luggage. Paris was a million miles from Belleville, Ohio, but it was here that Quinn felt the most at home; amongst the hustle and blinding noise of a strange city. In the simplicity of not knowing where she would end up tomorrow, or who she would meet. Or just in the way that she could close her eyes and it be as if time stood still for her, all the while the world beyond her still rushing by.

_Now this feels like home to me._

New York had never felt right, even though it had been home for a while. It was just a place among many. And though she hadn't lived in Ohio for years, it was always where her mind would take her when she thought of the conventional idea of home. It's where she grew up, and it was where her love affair with leaving had begun; under the covers of her single bed with a torch and a tattered old book she'd burrowed from the town library that week. Whenever her eyes were on the words of that day's fairytale or on a beautiful landscape that seemed to stretch on forever, her ears didn't hear anything beyond that bed. Not the screaming or the shattering glass. She was alone in her world, and nothing could hurt her.

At least not in the physical sense.

Quinn tore her mind away and brought the fresh coffee to her lips, taking a generous sip. The strong aroma filled her senses, clearing her thoughts and relaxing her tense shoulders considerably. She strode over to the nearest wooden bench, the thin cardboard hot against her palm, and her heavy rucksack weighing down her shoulder. She slipped it to the ground at her feet, before tucking her legs beneath her and settling in. She watched the crowd for a moment, taking another tentative sip and keeping a close eye on the time.

_Fourteen minutes._

Unzipping her small backpack at her side, Quinn pulled out her worn _Lonely Planet_, flipping to the creased down page, and continued to read about the paved side streets and narrow canals of Venice; of the sights and the culture. The images the simple words brought just made her want to board her train for the famous city all the more, Quinn itching to start something she'd dreamt of ever since she was that little girl with a flashlight. And ever since she got that fateful phone call.

_The one that changed everything._

The blonde bit gently on the inside of her cheek as she looked back into her open bag, her eyes going to her dark leather journal sitting neatly beyond the zip. She stretched out a hand, her fingers brushing the thin strap that held the weathered pages together, the ones filled with her thoughts and her fears, her chest feeling heavier with the simple touch. She'd always kept it with her, or one of similar make. When life got too much for her, it had always been too easy just flip to a fresh page and write down her troubled words so they were no longer pressing down on her; suffocating her. But rather they were stored safely behind that bound cover where no one could see them.

And on her darkest days she sometimes liked to think of them as a piece of her heart, the part of herself she was always too scared to show. And the part of her no one ever got to see. It was easier for her to feel detached that way, distance herself from that pain she grew up with. If those feelings were hidden, then she wouldn't have to feel them. Or at least that's what she told herself.

Writing became her outlet. And as she got older she found herself wanting nothing more than to travel the world and write of its wonders. But it wasn't until her senior year that Quinn had finally taken the first steps towards actually leaving everything she knew behind. She remembered she was in second period English Lit when the application slid across her desk. Quinn had looked up into her teacher's eyes, Ms. Nordstrom giving her a wink and continuing up the aisle.

She wasn't used to opportunities just being handed to her, more often than not having to work for them, or simply denying their existence as to avoid disappointment. But as Quinn's gaze flicked over the words _travel magazine_ and _London_, her pen didn't hesitate. And for once in her life she had high hopes and an expectation that this one thing could happened for her. Just this once. So when the thin envelope and those heavy words landed on her mother's doorstep, it was the last thread that had held her to Sullivan, Quinn packing up and moving to the city, and never looking back.

It was exactly a year later that she got the call. Quinn was working late at a small café in Brooklyn when her phone went off in her apron pocket as she wiped down the corner table. She was shocked to say the least to hear the man's voice on the other line, offering her the internship she'd just missed out on her senior year. And it was exactly a month to the day since then that she found herself on a bench in a crowded train station with nothing but a railway ticket and a backpack for company.

It was unexpected.

Quinn couldn't help but smile at the memory of the past two years as she removed her hand from the worn leather and placed it back to her guidebook that still lay open in her lap. Her eyes moved up to the clock overhead, the minute hand teetering toward the twelve. She nodded to herself softly, making an attempt to slip her things back into her bag when she heard the sound of childish laughter as a small boy, no older than five, ran across the platform in front of her. Her lips quirked slightly as the boy approached her, giggling to himself, before running off.

Her eyes followed him until he ran past a girl sitting on the opposite side of the tracks. Closing her book, Quinn leant forward slightly in her seat, her legs falling to the tiled floor below. The girl had her head bowed, her long fringe hanging in her eyes. Quinn regarded her for a moment, the brunette's oversize red hoodie slipping past her fingers as they brushed gently over the wooden slates of the bench. Her shoulders seemed to pull up suddenly, like she'd taken in a heaving breath, Quinn's eyes not leaving her.

She looked so lost, like she didn't belong among the rest of the patrons surrounding her. Quinn guessed that's why she'd caught her eye, but it didn't explain why she couldn't find it in herself to look away as the girl dug into her pocket to retrieve what looked to be her ticket, Quinn suddenly wondering where she was going, and if it had anything to do with why her full lips were turned down at the corners.

_Oh my God, what does it matter?_

_She's just some random girl._

Quinn shook her head with a humorless laugh, dropping her gaze back to her bag as she shoved her book on top of the journal and zipped it shut. She pulled her leather jacket tighter as a cool breeze whipped around her ears. But something, maybe a curiosity or something else entirely, had her eyes pulling back up to the bench again. But as she did, the girl was gone, Quinn scolding herself when her heart sank at the sight of the empty seat.

_Okay, this is just stupid._

_You saw her for like a second, geez._

She sighed inwardly at her irrational thoughts, picking up her rucksack and shouldering it, before setting off for the back exit of the train. As she stepped into the first carriage, Quinn only had to venture past two compartments to find an empty seat, settling in opposite what looked to be an elderly Italian couple, the pair smiling sweetly as she sat down. Quinn returned it, pulling out her journal and crossing her legs. The couple murmured lowly between themselves, their eyes on their own laps and the weathered books in their hands.

Quinn kept a small smile on her lips as she flipped to a fresh page toward the back and put her pen to paper. Her thoughts were filled with images of the world and of home, having every intention of writing her way to Venice; losing herself in her words. And with the level of caffeine in her system, it was looking like her only option. But as soon as her ballpoint hit the paper, nothing. No words. No flowing cursive or endless narrative, nor vivid imagery. It was just nothing; a void.

Quinn frowned, staring at the blank page. Images and thoughts still swirled behind her eyes, just beneath the surface. But her hand stayed frozen and unmoving. It was as if something was blocking her, stopping her from writing them down. Like she could hear and see the words, but not feel them on her tongue. It was frustrating to say the least, her pale fingers rolling the black pen between her tips impatiently.

_Why now, brain?_

Quinn was no stranger to writers' block, having suffered through her fair share over the years, sometimes spanning weeks at a time. But in this new place, surrounded by such beauty, she wouldn't have thought it would happen. She'd been dreaming of this place since she was a little girl, and had spent endless hours fantasizing of its possibilities, thinking of the stories she would tell and the adventures she would have once she finally saw those towering spires and those winding paved streets.

She let out a sigh of aggravation as she brought the tip of the pen to her hairline and scratched lightly. Nothing had changed. Nothing new had happened. She'd been fine back at her hotel this morning, having written pages upon pages of flowing words and random thought. She couldn't explain it rationally, not that her mind had ever heeded that way of thinking. Quinn had always been one for spontaneity, never wanting to over think, or spend too long deciding on trivial things. So after a moment, Quinn simply shrugged to herself, accepting defeat and slipping her journal back into her bag. She pulled out her guidebook once more, and continued on from where she left off.

The darkened scenery sped by without Quinn noticing much of anything, her mind lost; away somewhere else entirely. The French countryside slowly changed from green pastures to vineyards, the elderly couple across from her falling asleep on each others' shoulders. She fought off a smile at the sight, flipping to the next umpteenth page, her eyes scanning over the small black and white map of Greece. She ran her fingers over the thin lines and names of the cities and towns, committing them to memory under the dim light of the nearby desk lamp.

Quinn glanced at her watch after a few minutes, the hour hand hitting eleven as a low grumbling started in her stomach. It echoed in her ears, Quinn's eyes flicking down to her loose singlet beneath her leather jacket. She shifted in her seat, remembering she hadn't eaten in at least nine hours, which wasn't a strange occurrence for her. She often let time slip away when she had her nose in a book or a pen in her hand.

So careful not to wake the sleeping pair, she creased the tip of her current page and padded out of their small cabin. She slipped into the next cart, passing compartment after compartment, Quinn noticing endless people dozing, some with books still open by their sides with children on their laps, and others lucky enough to score a cot for the night. She entered the fourth carriage, a vending machine tucked neatly in the corner. Quinn knew there was a small café further up the train, but she didn't bother, already searching her pockets for spare Euros. And with four coins and one juggling act later, she was wandering back down the narrow aisle, Quinn holding a packet of crisps between her teeth, and candy bars and a bottle of water in her hands.

On her way back to her seat, her eyes once again roamed the cabins full of the other commuters. But when her gaze landed on a familiar red sweatshirt, her chips fell to the floor with a crumpled thud, Quinn's lips going slack and her eyes going wide. She cleared her throat nervously, her heart thudding as she bent down to pick them back up. Quinn licked at her lips, edging closer to the sliding door of the cabin she'd nearly walked past without so much as a second glance.

The brunette from the station was sleeping soundly on the other side of the glass, her thin white headphones tangled awkwardly around her neck. Quinn smiled and took in a calming breath, suddenly wondering why her heart was playing a small symphony beneath her chest. She put it down to the surprise of seeing the girl again and nothing more, watching as her slight frame rose and fell with her light breathing. And now that Quinn had a chance to take a closer look, she noted that the girl couldn't have been much older than her, the dark tanned skin of her cheeks smooth and touchable.

_Wow, okay._

_You can walk away now, Q._

Biting the corner of her lip, Quinn reluctantly dropped her gaze to her feet and forced her legs into motion. Her stomach was sinking further as she walked, and she didn't know why. This girl was a complete stranger to her, a stranger she'd seen across a crowded train station. That was it. But as she neared her cabin and sat back down, her heart still thudded faster in her chest. And as she twisted off the cap to her water, her thoughts wouldn't stray from this mysterious girl two carriages away.

_What is wrong with me?_

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, her mind not able to concentrate on the words of her guidebook or the taste of the chocolate in her mouth, that skin and the deep red of the girl's sweatshirt ghosting behind her closed lids. She sighed deeply, shaking her head. She'd had attractions towards girls before, even dated a few back in New York, but it had never felt like this. It had always taken weeks of knowing them to feel this flutter in her chest, if at all. And even then, nothing really went beyond the second or third date, at least not since high school.

_No, this is a curiosity._

_Nothing more._

_I'm alone in a new place._

_That's it._

Quinn swallowed her mouthful, and took another sip of her water. She looked over at the elderly couple opposite her, the man's eyes slowly fluttering open. His gaze met hers, a weary smile on his lips. He looked tired and more than a little uncomfortable as he shifted next to his wife, the woman groaning mutely in sleep. Quinn felt a pang of sympathy for him at his sullen features, standing suddenly from her wide seat with a smile of her own.

"_Signore?_" Quinn murmured, gesturing for him to sit down.

"No, no," he shook his head, his accent thick. "I couldn't."

"I insist," Quinn urged, collecting her things from under the long bench.

He smiled sweetly to her, rousing his wife enough to let her lie down, before crossing the cabin and doing the same. "Thank you," he whispered, grasping Quinn's hand and squeezing gently.

"You're more than welcome," she bade, and made her way out into the deserted hallway.

The rattle of the train against the metal tracks shook the floor beneath her feet, her heavy rucksack slung over her shoulder. Quinn couldn't seem to wipe the smile from her lips, glancing back at the already sleeping couple. She'd always been that person, caring more for others than she did herself. But sadly it wasn't always a good thing. Quinn remembered countless times in high school when she had been stuck in toxic relationships, all because she hid her own feelings to save another's. Even before her parents were divorced she'd stayed silent. She'd learned over the years to block everything out, sweep it under the rug and ignore the obvious.

_Woe is me._

Quinn looked back down the hallway toward the sliding door that led through to the second part of the train, her eyes on the cabin she knew lay beyond it. After a hesitant moment, she set off down the carpeted walkway, heaving her pack higher on her shoulder. She didn't pay any mind to where she was going, her feet carrying her from carriage to carriage. She didn't want to question what she was doing, or why. Frankly, those thoughts scared her. They always had. But as she reached for that handle and slid it open, her heart quickened ever so slightly. It was irrational, she knew that. But she never did have much time for logic.

Her heavy bag hit the ground, Quinn pushing it gently under the cot opposite the still sleeping girl. She sat down on the soft white sheets and crossed her legs beneath her, before leaning back against the hardwood paneling. Quinn's eyes fell naturally to her, her gaze flicking to her full features and parted lips. Small breaths escaped them rhythmically, Quinn finding the sound calming. As she continued to look at her, random questions and thoughts planted themselves on her tongue, Quinn suddenly wanting to know who she was, and where she was from.

Her name.

What her voice sounded like.

_It's just a curiosity. _

_That's all._

Those were the words that played on a loop through her mind until her eyes gradually started to close. In the silence and darkness of the small room she could hear the low ringing of music that was coming from the tiny iPod speakers still tangled messily around her neck. Quinn contemplated crossing the small gap, and removing the cord and switching it off. But the mere thought of being that close to her, a stranger at that, was enough to keep her on her own cot.

_Just a curiosity._

* * *

><p>Quinn woke with a start. Her eyes tried to adjust to the minimal light, as she moved her gaze to the darkened hills outside the window, the green grass a dull shade of blue in the moonlight. She pulled herself up, glancing at her watch and noting it was just past three in the morning. The sun was still behind the horizon, throwing the French countryside into shadow. Stifling a yawn, she stretched her stiff back, before her eyes wandered back to <em>her<em>. She was still sleeping soundly, however she was now on her side, her left arm hanging off her bed, and her fingers just grazing the rough carpet.

Quinn leant over and clicked the lamp on her side of the cabin, the small light flickering before illuminating most of the room. She eyed the brunette cautiously, but the girl didn't rouse or wake, her soft snoring continuing as if nothing had changed. And if anything, she snuggled further into the pillow beneath her chin. Quinn was just about to reach for her bag and her journal when she noticed the thick block lettering scrawled across the top of the girl's pack sitting neatly underneath her bunk.

_J. Lopez._

Quinn smiled at the name despite herself, a part of her intrigued further by this small truth. She shook her head, a smile still on her lips, and reached again for her small backpack. She was about to pull down the zip when she noticed her journal sitting open on the covers next to her. Quinn froze before looking back to her new friend, her heart jumping in her chest with that first sign of panic. But the girl didn't move or stir, her cord still tangled around her neck. So after a moment Quinn dismissed that stray thought entirely, putting it down to pulling it from her bag on second nature before falling asleep.

She retrieved it from the comforter and flipped back to the first free page. Pulling out her pen, Quinn experimentally put it to the white paper, loosely hoping that something had changed in the last few hours. Her words still swam beneath the surface, and her hand stayed motionless; everything just out of reach. Quinn sighed inwardly, residing in just staring out the window, and writing simple words and thoughts, attempting to break what was stopping her. She kept her eyes to the world outside and away from the girl, scared of what words would come out if her gaze were to wander, of the thoughts she'd have and the images she would see.

_Still just curious._

Quinn soon tired of the endless darkened hills and gently gripped the bottom of the page, letting her fingers splay out across the bottom, before careful tracing their outline. She removed her hand, adding nails and more detail, giving her mind something to concentrate on so her thoughts wouldn't drift. She didn't know why she was bothering. She'd never been able to force her writing before. Quinn had always needed to just wait out the void until something broke it naturally.

_Though I would have thought something like Europe would have done that for me. _

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Quinn's head shot up, her heart jumping out of her chest and her journal shifting in her lap. She made a quick grab for it along with her pen as the girl on the opposite bunk groaned mutely. With a hand pulled up in front of her face, she shielded her still sensitive eyes from the invasive light. She had a scowl on her full lips, Quinn moving to cover the tiny lamp with her hand, blocking out most of it and throwing shadows over the wood paneling.

"Have you _not_ seen the time?" the brunette continued, her tone gravelly and rough with sleep. She collapsed face down again on her pillow, rolling so her back was to Quinn.

_Oh my God._

_What do I do now?_

Quinn's mind raced as she pulled herself up straighter and repositioned her notebook to prevent it slipping to the floor again.

_Just say something._

"Morning to you too," she replied. Quinn attempted to keep her voice light and teasing, hoping she wouldn't hear the panic that was suddenly gripping at her chest. She took a breath, scolding herself from reacting like such a girl. Quinn kept her hand on the lamp, the heat from the plastic warming her palm and distracting her erratic thoughts. But after a short moment, she looked back over to her, watching as the girl lifted her head abruptly off the pillow, before turning towards her.

_Holy shi..._

The girl's eyes flicked from the hand still covering the lamp to the journal open in her lap, Quinn's heart skipping a little more as they reached her own. They were a perfect almond and the deepest of browns, her gaze ghosting over Quinn's every feature. It was intense and slightly unnerving, those eyes focusing on her parted lips. Quinn took in a quiet breath as she continued to stare, before quirking an eyebrow at her when she remembered she'd asked her a question, no matter how rhetorical it was, and watched as a realization washed over her face.

"Umm, morning," she finally choked out, before falling back down on the soft sheets. She saw her shake her head back and forth lightly, and her shoulders pull up as she took a sighing breath into her pillow.

Quinn couldn't help but find her clear embarrassment endearing. It calmed her nerves considerably, knowing she wasn't the only one freaking out at the others presence. But she guessed hers was more to do with the surprise of having company, and not for the reasons Quinn was currently scolding herself for, knowing this girl was still an almost stranger.

_Get a grip, Q._

But now that she'd spoken to her, Quinn couldn't help all her questions rushing back to the forefront of her mind, suddenly itching to know more about her. "So, Lopez?" Quinn ventured, garnering her attention at the mention of the name. "Where are you from?"

"How did you?" she stammered, her eyes now wide with shock as she reached up and finally removed her headphone cord from around her neck. All the colour appeared to drain from her previously flushed face, Quinn trying not to smile as she motioned towards the bag underneath her. Another bout of realisation seemed to pass over her, the brunette taking a calming breath. "Lima, Ohio," she said, relaxing into her cot. "You? And your name while you're at it too, since you insist on playing twenty questions at four in the morning."

"Small world, I'm from Belleville," Quinn smiled, liking the girl's quick wit instantly. Closing her journal, Quinn rested her hands on the cover before continuing. "But I've lived in New York for the past two years."

She watched as the other girl nodded at her words, but her eyes still held an expectant glint to them. Quinn paused, contemplating for a moment before answering her in a jesting tone, "And you can call me Q."

"That's all I get?" she said, astonishment colouring her tone. "Q?"

"Yes, that's all you get," Quinn giggled, enjoying the girl's reaction to her words, her confidence growing. She dropped her gaze to her lap and opened her journal again. "You could be a serial killer for all I know, Lopez."

She grabbed her pen and pressed it back to the page, continuing to sketch more of her hand. Quinn could feel those eyes on her again. She willed herself not to react the way her heart wanted to, keeping her nerves from her slight features.

"Say's the one that's writing in her journal at 4am," the girl retorted, Quinn putting down her pen and meeting her eye, already loving that sarcastic tone.

"You're really not a morning person, are you?"

"It's still night, _Q_," she stated, pointing out at the still darkened sky.

Quinn followed her finger, smiling to herself as a silence fell over them, though she could still feel that gaze on her. This girl was like a breath of fresh air. She wasn't anything like she'd previously thought when she first saw her. She'd had a notion that she would be more reserved and timid, the image of how lost she looked at the station coming back to Quinn's mind. But this girl was the opposite, intriguing Quinn further as more questions plagued her already crowded thoughts.

But she more or less kept her eyes to the window, her pen moving loosely over the blank page. She would sometimes pause for a moment, deep in thought, but writing was a habit and it gave her hands something to do. When her fingers were occupied, it left her mind free to think; it was a fixation. And it distracted her from the girl across from her, and the low thrumming in her chest at the thought of talking to her again, that intrigue waging a small war with her tongue.

After an hour or so, the Italian sun begun to slowly creep over the hilltops and fields in the distance, illuminating the greens and the yellows of the pastures, and shining light over the cottages and tiny farmhouses nestled every few miles. Quinn put down her pen, letting the sheer beauty wash over her. It was much more breathtaking in person, a flat image on a piece of paper not quite capturing the view. She leant back against the panelling, sighing contently and closing her eyes, feeling time stand still.

_How can four thousand miles away feel like home?_

She returned her pen back to the paper, tracing her name over and over again; pages she would soon remove. But in her peripheral, she saw the darker girl staring at her, Quinn forcing herself not to smile, but failing miserably.

"So, how long are you gone for?" Quinn edged, gazing up through her lashes and catching her. The girl quickly looked back to the window and down toward her nails, picking at her cuticles and biting at her bottom lip.

"Until my trust fund runs out," she huffed.

Quinn could hear the hostility in her single breath, but she knew it wasn't directed at her, but rather someone closer to home. Her eyes didn't move from her nails either, Quinn sensing that it was a sensitive topic. So instead of prying, she teased, knowing full well that she wouldn't want to be pity.

"So, how long are you gone for?" Quinn repeated in jest, watching her eyes pull back up with the resemblance of a smile.

"One month, two tops," she relented. "You?"

"I'll be working in London for the next year, and then it's back to New York."

The train screeched to a sudden halt, Quinn's eyes moving to the window and to the platform beyond. It sent an excited flutter to her chest, her hands gripping at her journal. She looked back at her new friend as an announcer came over the sound system, informing them of their arrival.

"Sounds like we're here," she mumbled, reaching under her seat and grabbing her rucksack as Quinn did the same. She watched her leave in front of her, before following her out, hundreds of people already in the crowded aisle, forwarding to their nearest exit.

As she touched down on the hot concrete, her skin overheated instantly in her leather jacket, the temperature of Venice exceeding that of Paris. Quinn let out a breath, spotting her standing over by one of the benches lining the centre of their platform, before wandering over to meet her.

"Well it was nice to have met you, _Q_," she jested, holding out her hand for Quinn to take.

"Likewise, _Lopez,_" Quinn quipped back, taking the offered hand. She tried not to think about how soft the girl's skin was, or the tingling it left behind, shaking it briefly before letting go.

Quinn watched as the girl brushed her palm on her skinny jeans, peaking her interest slightly. It wasn't like she was wiping it, but rather she was familiarising her hand with a different touch. Quinn looked back up into those eyes with a smile, feeling something twinge as she forced herself to turn her back. She sighed heavily as she made her way up the crowded platform, passing other travellers, trying to ignore the warmth in her chest that wasn't there yesterday.

_This is so stupid._

_Just keep walking._

But she didn't make it more than fifty feet when something stopped her, a strange pulling at her stomach that got worse the further she walked. It was a completely foreign feeling, but it had her turning on her heel and looking back at the girl who hadn't moved an inch, those dark eyes still on her. Quinn cocked her head to the side, her gaze narrowing while her brain tried to talk her out of what could possibly be the most reckless thing she's ever done.

_I'm so going to regret this, aren't I?_

But Quinn ignored logic and the voice inside her head screaming for her to just keep walking, her legs pushing off back to where the girl stood, a curious set to her brow.

"Come with me."

Her eyes bugged out of her head, her lips moving wordlessly until she found her voice, "I don't even know where you're going."

"Does it matter?" Quinn countered, her heart beating out of her chest at her own confidence, wanting more than anything in that moment to hear her say yes.

"I don't even know your name."

"Quinn," she smiled effortlessly. "Come with me."

"I just met you," the girl argued in disbelief, a laugh slipping from her lips.

"That's a matter of perspective," Quinn blurted before she could stop herself.

_Okay, not helping._

"I just learnt your name."

"What's in a name?" Quinn shrugged poetically.

"I barely know you," she exclaimed in exasperation, though she still had a smile on her lips, a smile that sent that warmth to Quinn's chest.

"All the more reason for you to come with me," she told her passionately, her mind running away on her and that childish faith she had coming to the surface. "What did you come to Europe for if not to experience the unexpected. Well, _I'm_ the unexpected."

Quinn watched as her eyes flitted over her every feature, seeing her hesitation and a nervous fear, but an underlining want to say yes. She didn't know why she was asking. All she knew was that she didn't want it to be goodbye just yet. "Give me three weeks," she digressed. "Three weeks, and I'll show you why you left home in the first place."

_Oh God, why I am pushing this?_

Quinn saw that smile widen just a little, before she breathed those words that made her heart slam into her chest, "Three weeks."

"Really?" Quinn choked, not quite believing it. She clasped her hands together as she tried to contain her ear splitting grin. "Okay."

She nodded to herself and took a much needed breath, motioning for her to follow her out of the station. They'd both made it to the end of the platform when Quinn remembered something she'd forgotten to ask, "I don't actually know yours, by the way."

"My what?"

"Name."

"Oh," she mouthed with small grin. "Um, it's Santana."

_Santana..._

It sounded so poetic coming from her lips, like the name of a princess from one of her fairytales. It sent a flutter inside her chest, Quinn trying to keep the smile from her face as they passed through the front doors and out into the street near the taxi ranks.

_Three weeks..._

_And to think it all started with just one phone call._


	20. Special Announcement

_**As If We Never Said Goodbye **_now has a sister story.

_**Never Can Say Goodbye**_ is a collection of one-shots of future moments, head-canons, and deleted scenes from this beloved story. The love and appreciation all of you have shown me over the past two years has encouraged me to continue writing this story on a much larger scale.

These one-shots won't be in date order, and will not have an end. Whenever I discover another part to their journey, I will update. There are already over twenty chapters in the pipeline, and it will continue to grow every day. And please note that _**Part III**_ will still be updated as well, this won't affect this section of my story.

Also for _tumblr's __**2013 Quinntana Week**__ (25-31 March 2013)_ I will be doing an audio post answering questions asked by all of you. So if you have ever had any curiosities, what if's, head-canons, or just scenes you wish me to discuss further, here's your chance. Review, PM me, or send me an ask on my tumblr – willowsagehart . It will be posted on the 24th of March on my blog, so get your questions in before then.

And finally, I hope you all enjoy the next chapter of this epic love story.


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